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C.  K.  OGDEN 


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A. 


I 


ESSAYS. 


ESSAYS, 


nilLOSOPHICAL    AND    THEOLOGICAL. 


By  JAMES  MAiniNEAU. 


Vor..  I. 


NEW     VOIHv:     IIEXIIY     JlU]/r     AND     COMPANY, 


LONDON: 
TJiUBNEK  &  CO. 

•w   S:  5!l,  ]A-l)V,V\E  Hlf,!,. 


^ 


V) 


"V 


iK 


V.I 


CONTENTS. 


PAQB 

Comte's  Life  and  Philosopht 1 

John  Stuaut  Mill 68 

Nature  and  God 121 

SciKNCE,  Nescience,  and  Faith 171 

M ANSEL'S  Limits  of  Religious  Thought 213 

Cekebral  Psychology:  Bain 244 

Revelation;  What  it  Is  Not,  and  What  it  Is 280 

Personal  Influences  on  ouk  Present  Theology:  Newman  — 

Coleridge— Carlvle 329 

Thkology  in  its  Relation  to  Progressive  Knowucdge  .    .    .  408 


19283S0 


PUBLISHER'S  PREFACE. 


The  publisher  takes  special  pleasure  in  offering 
this  volume  of  Essays  selected  from  the  much- 
admired  writings  of  Rev.  Jaimes  Martineau, 
Professor  in  Manchester  College,  London.  Mr. 
Martineau  is  considered  one  of  the  profound- 
est  thinkers  and  most  brilliant  writers  of  this 
century.  His  contributions  to  the  Prospective, 
Westminster,  National,  and  other  Reviews  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  the  best  minds  in  both 
England  and  America,  and  produced  a  marked 
and  favorable  impression  upon  men  of  all  denom- 
inations. He  has  done  more,  perhaps,  than  any 
other  writer  of  our  time  to  detach  religion  from 
its  historical  accidents  and  accretions,  and  to 
defend  its  essential  elements  from  the  destruc- 
tive assaults  and  tendencies  of  the  positivist 
•and  critical  schools.  He  is  by  far  the  ablest 
exponent  and  champion  of  religious  faith  in 
its  contest  with  the  scepticism  and  materialism 

jiiil 


IV  PUBLISHERS    PREFACE. 

of  the  age ;  and  his  criticisms  of  Mill,  Spencer, 
Comte,  Mansel,  and  Bain  are  almost  necessary 
to  a  complete  understanding  of  the  positions 
these  men  severally  occupy,  and  leave  scarcely 
any  thing  to  be  desired  on  the  other  side.  The 
subjects  discussed  in  these  Essays  have  awakened 
a  general  and  growing  interest  among  all  classes 
of  thoughtful  readers ;  and  the  publisher  esteems 
himself  fortunate  in  being  able  to  collect  them 
from  inaccessible  magazines,  and  in  presenting 
them  to  the  American  public  in  a  permanent  and 
elegant  form. 

Boston,  March  n,  1866. 


ESSAYS, 

PHILOSOPHICAL  AND   THEOLOGICAL 


COMTE'S   LIFE  AND   PHILOSOPHY.* 


From  the  day  of  a  man's  death  seven  years  must  elapse, 
60  this  Catechism  informs  us,  before  lie  can  be  "  incor- 
porated in  the  Supreme  Being ;^^  i.e.  registered 
among  the  worthies  of  humanity,  and  honored  with  a 
cummemor.itive  bust.  We  neither  belong  to  the  priest- 
hood, nor  are  within  six  yeax*s  of  the  date  that  must 
deride  the  question  of  Comte's  apotheosis.  Leaving  so 
great  a  verdict  to  the  council  of  the  future,  we  avail 
ourselves  of  the  labors  of  his  translator  and  the  recent 
close  of  his  career  to  notice  a  few  characteristics  of  his 
genius  and  system.  Neither  the  puerilities  of  his  later 
writings,  nor  the  self-exaggeration  pervading  tliem  all, 
cancel  his  claim  to  recognition  as  the  most  powerful 
and  constructive  thinker  of  the  modern  scientific  school, 
and  as  a  half-j)ious  believer  in  the  dreary  visions  of  a 
philosophy  held  by  many,  though  avowed  by  few.      The 

*  The  Catechism  of  Positive  IJeligion.     Translated  from  the  French  cf 
An^^iiste  Cointc,  by  Kiclinrd  Coiigreve.     Loiuloii:  Cliapmaii,  1&56. 
Nat:i)nni  Keview,  1858.  1 


2  COMTE'S   LIFE    AND    PHILOSOPHY. 

difficulties  over  Avhieli  his  influence  has  triumphed  attest 
his  intellectual  force.  In  his  survey  of  particular  sci- 
ences, not  excepting  his  own  (^the  mathematics),  he  has 
incurred  the  reproach  of  serious  cnors  and  misconcep- 
tions. Even  among  savants,  his  temper  and  personal 
pretensions  are  as  unique  as  are  EwahTs  among  critics 
and  theologians.  His  style  is  an  oppressive  miracle  of 
tediousness,  benumbing  the  vivacity  of  the  cleverest 
translator,  and  taxing  the  patience  of  the  most  practised 
student.  His  chief  reputed  merit  —  the  creation  of 
Sociology  —  he  j)roclaims  with  the  airs  of  a  {luyog,  in- 
stead of  committing  it  to  the  test  of  time  and  thought ; 
and  men  like  ]\Ir.  Mill,  who  had  .accepted  his  baptism, 
and  been  initiated  into  his  gospel,  excuse  themselves 
from  his  apocalypse.  And  no  sooner  do  "  Secularists  " 
indulge  their  iiratitude  for  his  abolition  of  thcolojiies 
and  hierarchies,  than  he  publishes  himself  Supreme 
Pontiff  of  humanity,  and  sets  up  a  theocracy  without  a 
God.  Yet,  in  spite  of  every  weakness  and  offence,  he 
has  found  his  way  to  the  thought  of  the  present  age. 
A  few  vigorous  minds  he  has  moulded  to  an  extent  un- 
known, perhaps,  even  to  themselves  ;  and  many  more 
owe  no  sliiiht  obligation  to  the  i)rc£;iiant  hints  every- 
where  scattered  through  his  first  great  work.  His  main 
attempt  —  viz.  to  destroy  the  antithesis  between  the 
physical  and  the  moral  sciences,  and  draw  them  out  in 
one  continuous  series,  by  ranging  man  and  his  life 
among  natural  objects  —  has  established  itself  as  a 
characteristic  of  our  time,  and  exhibits  more  signs  of 
vigor  than  the  older  forms  of  anthropological  and 
social  doctrine.  If  the  most  marked  intellectual  tend- 
ency of  the  age  be  to  advance  the  lines  of  every  science 


comte's  life  and  rniLosoriiY.  3 

into  a  domain  lilthorto  di.stinct  —  to  press  physical  con- 
ceptions into  chemistry,  chemical  into  physiology,  i)hy- 
siological  into  morals  and  politics,  and  by  the  energy 
of  inductive  law  to  shoulder  metaphysics  and  tlieology 
over  the  brink  of  the  world  altogetlier  —  it  is  largely 
due  to  the  action,  direct  and  indirect,  of  the  IViiloao^ 
'phle  Positive. 

Tlie  doctrines  of  Comte  can  scarcely  be  appreciated 
without  some  reference  to  his  personal  career.  On  this 
point,  indeed,  he  himself  lays  no  little  stress  ;  and  he 
has  accordingly  supplied,  in  a  series  of  prefaces,  an 
autobiographical  sketch  of  his  mental  history.  It  ap- 
pears that  during^  his  earliest  years  lie  was  exposed  to 
two  singularly  inharmonious  iniluences,  whose  struggle 
must  have  affected  his  wht)le  development.  His  family 
belonged  to  the  Catholic  and  monarchical  party  in  the 
South  of  France  ;  to  conciliate  which  the  first  Napoleon 
had  surrendered  to  ecclesiastical  regime  the  young  revo- 
lutionary schools,  in  which,  at  the  same  time,  the  exact 
sciences  constituted  the  preponderant  disci[)line,  and 
the  political  sentiments  of  the  crisis  still  remained.  No 
amalgamation  could  well  take  place  between  elements 
so  discoidant.  From  the  first,  tiie  theological  influence 
seems  to  have  found  no  entry  into  our  author's  nature  ; 
and  his  whole  })roblem  was  to  bring  his  political  and 
social  ideas  into  some  systematic  relation  to  his  mathe- 
matical and  physical  knowledge.  In  this  respect  his 
genius  and  character  bear  the  true  Napoleonic  type  ; 
and  as  the  exiled  Emperor  at  St.  Helena  shows  himself 
still  the  officer  of  artillery,  and  regards  the  world  from 
the  engineering  point  of  view,  so  Comte  betrays  the 
same  tendency  to  push  dynamics  into  the  conquest  of 


4  comte's  life  and  philosophy. 

history  and  mankiiul,  and  coerce  the  universe  of  life 
and  persons  into  the  formulas  applicable  to  things. 
The  French  tendency  to  large  and  neat  generalization, 
80  tempting  to  the  lofB  of  order,  so  dangerous  to  the 
paramount  feeling  of  truth,  does  not  appear  to  have 
been  checked  in  him  by  any  considerable  devotion  to 
the  litercB  humaniores.  No  trace  appears  of  the 
scholarly  habits  of  mind,  and  that  peculiar  balance 
of  faculty,  to  which  philological  and  moral  studies 
seem  to  be  indispensable.  Though  his  view  over  his- 
tory is  wide,  and  supplies  liim  with  many  original 
reflections,  yet  the  tact  of  sympathetic  criticism  is 
nowhere  found,  and  the  dominance  of  the  natural  phi- 
losopher's rules  of  thought  is  always  cons[)iciious.  His 
mathematical  training  was  completed  in  the  Polytechnic 
School ;  and  during  its  progress  he  seems  to  have 
fallen  under  the  influence  of  St.  Simon,  and  caught 
the  inspiration  of  his  socialistic  dreams.  This  influence 
he  himself  professes  to  have  been  "  disastrous  ; "  inas- 
much as  it  suspended  his  purely  philosophical  activity 
in  favor  of  schemes  of  direct  political  experiment.  But 
the  disciples  of  this  singular  enthusiast  have  always  re- 
proached Comte  with  intellectual  plagiarism  from  their 
^master;  and  certainly  the  historical  generalizations  of 
Comte  continually  remind  us  of  the  [jrinciples  and 
methods  of  the  earlier  school.  After  long  dissatisfac- 
tion with  the  disorderly  condition  of  all  political  and 
social  speculation,  and  an  eager  desire  to  carry  the 
exactitude  of  physical  science  up  into  the  phenomena  of 
life  and  humanity,  he  fit  last  realized  his  hope  in  1822, 
at  the  age  of  twenty-four,  by  the  discovery  of  his  great 
law  aa  to  the  three  successive  phases  of  human  evolu- 


COMTES    LJFE    AKD    PUrLOSOPIIY.  0. 

tion.  Tills  law  is  a?  follows  :  that,  both  in  the  indivi- 
(Jiial  ami  in  the  history  of  mankind,  thought,  in  dealing 
witii  its  problems,  ])asses  of  necessity  through  (1)  a 
theological  stage  ;  (2)  a  metaphysical,;  before  reaching 
(thirdly,  and  finally)  the  positive:  resorting,  in  the 
earliest  instance,  to  the  idea  of  living  and  personal 
agents  as  the  motive-power  of  nature ;  then  proceeding 
to  substitute  abstract  entities,  such  as  force,  substance, 
&Q.  ;  and  only  at  last  content  to  relinquish  every  thing 
except  the  study  and  classification  of  phenomena  in 
their  relations  of  time  and  place.  In  1825  —  6,  he 
sketched  in  some  minor  essays  the  mode  of  applying 
this  law  to  the  re-organization  of  the  body  politic ;  and 
in  the  latter  year  commenced  an  oral  exposition  of  his 
discovery  in  its  entire  range  of  application.  His  course 
was  unhappily  interrupted  by  a  profond  oruge  cere- 
bral, in  otiier  words,  a  temporary  attack  of  mental  dis- 
order ;  for  their  mismanagement  of  which  he  fiercely 
attacks  his  physicians  and  tiie  usages  of  their  pro- 
fession. His  recovery  enabled  him  to  complete  his 
lectures  in  182'J.  This  viva-voce  exposition  forms  the 
basis  of  his  great  work  (Jours  de  l^h'do^ophle  l^osi- 
tive,  the  publication  of  which  extended  over  twelve 
years,  from  I8o0— 1842.  It  consists  of  six  very  thick 
volumes,  divided  into  sixty  Icpons,'  during  the  course 
of  which  he  reviews,  by  the  light  of  his  law,  the  eusem- 
blc  of  human  knowledge,  beginning  with  the  j)urely 
quantitative  sciences,  as  the  most  simple  ;  and  liaving 
taken  the  inorganic  studies  in  the  order  of  retreat  from 
this  primitive  base,  advancing  to  the  province  of  physi- 
ology. The  laws  won  in  that  field  he  cai'iii,'.^  u[)  into 
anthropology  ;    and  by  i'vldin";  on  the  eflects  of  combin- 


6  gomte's  life  and  philosophy. 

iug  men  in  associated  numbers,  he  seeks  to  establish  a 
special  and  crowning  science  of  Sociology.  It  is  on 
his  ability  to  accomplish  this  final  object  that  he  stakes 
the  whole  credit  of  his  method ;  and  whatever  is  prior 
to  this  lie  refjards  as  the  mere  vestibule  to  his  great 
structure.  The  better  to  secure  a  trial  of  his  claims 
upon  this  issue,  he  has  made  his  sociological  sj'stem  the 
subject  of  a  separate  work,  Systeme  de  Politique 
Positive;  in  which  the  natural  sciences  are  entirely 
left  behind,  and  his  law  is  applied  exclusively  to  the 
relations  of  human  natui'e  and  history.  The  second 
title  of  this  work,  TraitS  de  Sociologies  being  bor- 
rowed from  his  essay  of  1824,  resumes,  in  1851,  the 
thread  of  his  early  career. 

In  the  mean  while  a  complete  revolution  had  taken 
place  both  in  his  inner  character  and  in  his  external 
relations  ;  cutting  his  life  into  two  dissimilar  periods, 
the  identity  of  which  in  the  same  person  his  original 
disciples  must  find  it  difficult  to  realize.  The  severe 
mathematician,  the  rigorous  philosophic  censor,  the 
scornful  materialist,  is  now  converted  into  the  "  High- 
Priest  of  the  Religion  of  Humanity,"  the  chief  of  the 
"  Occidental  liepublic,"  the  type  of  the  "  Regeneration 
of  the  Affections,"  sending  missionary  despatches  to 
Russian  emperors  and  Turkish  viziers,  and  surrendered 
apparently  to  the  visionary  enthusi.isms  of  a  St.  Simon 
or  a  Robert  Owen.  He  speaks  of  himself  as  the 
founder  of  a  new,  final,  and  universal  worship.  He 
claims  an  annual  subsidy  from  his  disciples,  in  support 
of  his  sacerdotal  character,  and  addresses  the  yearly 
circular  which  demands  the  tax  to  all  tiie  Western 
lands.     He  repudiates  our  chronological   era  and  the 


comte's  life  and  philosophy.  7 

Roman  calendar ;  makes  1788  his  zero  of  human  lils- 
tory,  which  begins  for  him  with  the  French  Revohitlon  ; 
gives  us  thirteen  months  in  the  year,  and  a  day  over  for 
commemorating  all  the  dead  ;  and  dates  his  productions 
in  a  way  horrifying  to  Quakers,  and  questionable  even 
to  Hero-worsiiippers ;  finishing  one  preface  on  the 
23d  Aristotle,  year  63,  another  on  12th  Dante,  a  third 
on  the  25th  Charlemagne ;  writing  to  the  Emperor 
Nicholas  on  19th  Bichat,  and  to  lieschid  Pacha  on  the 
7th  Homer,  &c.  Whence  this  extraordinary  change 
in  a  man  trained  under  the  austere  discipline  of  the 
exact  sciences?  Skilful  observers  of  human  character 
might  perhaps  notice  in  his  first  great  work  symp- 
toms of  great  personal  peculiarity,  but  certainly  nothing 
which  could  prepare  them  for  his  later  exhibitions. 
An  overbearing  dogmatism  and  astounding  self-appre- 
ciation appear  in  all  his  expositions  ;  and  the  personal 
preface  in  whicli  he  takes  leave  of  the  last  volume  of 
his  PhUosophie,  besides  betraying  frccpicnt  soreness 
and  bickerings  towards  the  Academic  and  the  savants 
of  the  day,  cpierulously  turns  upon  the  authorities  of 
the  Polytechnic  School  for  not  appointing  him  to  one 
of  the  higher  professorships,  and  almost  dares  them  to 
dismiss  him  from  the  subordinate  post  he  held  there. 
His  contemptuous  estimate  of  the  reputations  of  the 
hour  and  the  intellectual  spirit  of  his  time  would  have 
more  effect  but  for  the  manifest  admixture  of  disap- 
pointed feeling ;  for  threnodies  on  the  "  decline  of 
science  "  are  heard  with  impatience  when  deriving  their 
inspiration  from  personal  grievances.  There  may  have 
been  grounds  for  tlie  complaints  of  persecution  so  fre- 
quently iusiimated  against  Arago  ;    but  there  is  enough 


8  CO:kITE's    IJFE    AND    PHILOSOPirY. 

in  Comte's  teaching  .and  influence,  notwithstanding  hia 
incontestable  Renins,  to  exphiin  some  indisposition  on 
the  part  of  the  directors  of*  puhHc  education  to  trust 
liiin  with  distinguished  functions,  without  supposing 
mahgnant  cabals  .against  him,  prompted  by  jealousy, 
and  working  by  mean  intrigue.  Having  pui>licly  jiro' 
claimed  his  real  or  supi)osed  injuries,  and  challenged 
dismissal,  he  was  almost  unavoidably  taken  at  his  word  ; 
and  in  1843—4  underwent  what  he  terms  his  "polytech- 
nic spoliation,"  followed  by  seven  years  of  persecution 
•from  the  "  ped autocracy  "  of  Paris.  It  was  during  this 
interval  that  the  agency  presented  itself  which  created 
his  "second  career."  He  had  been  thrown  back  en- 
tirely on  private  life ;  he  had  just  completed  his 
"immense  elaboration,"  and  his  six  voluujcs  were  before 
the  world  ;  and  he  had  attained,  in  some  involimtary 
w.ty,  another  kind  of  freedom,  not  specifically  defined, 
but  termed  an  "irreproachable  moral  freedom,"  —  a 
phrase  'svhich,  interpreted  by  its  connections,  evidently 
means  a  dissolution  of  the  marriage-tie.  Disengaged 
in  so  many  senses,  he  is  no  way  chiimed  by  the  past, 
but  oi)en  to  new  impulses  ;  and  just  at  this  opportune 
crisis,  by  a  destiny  which  might  be  called  providential, 
were  it  not  that  "  theological  ideas  are  cerebral  infirmi- 
ties," he  fell  in  with  "an  incomparable  angel,"  similarly 
6ej)arated  from  matrimonial  obligations,  Mme.  Clotilde 
de  Vaux.  Drawn  to  sympathy  at  first  by  "the  sad 
conformity  of  their  domestic  destinies,"  they  soon  find 
that  each  nature  is  constitute*!  to  give  what  the  other 
wants ;  she  knowing  nothing  of  Positivism,  and  he 
nothing  (»f  love,  and  neither  unwilling  to  learn  the  les- 
son of  the  other.      Conite  attributes  the  previous  sleep 


comte's  life  and  riiiLOSornY.  9 

of  his  gentler  feelings,  first  to  his  early  withdrawal 
from  the  domestic  circle  into  a  scholastic  seclusion  ;  and 
next,  to  a  marriage  which  he  had  contracted  on  pur- 
pose to  repair  his  deficient  affections,  and  which,  tluis 
taken  as  a  prescription,  very  naturally  failed  to  produce 
a»iy  new  symptoms.  It  was  not  too  late,  however,  at 
the  age  of  forty-five,  for  the  "  better  human  senti- 
ments" to  be  awakened  in  him;  their  energy,  indeed, 
was  all  the  greater  for  their  previous  exceptional  repres- 
sion ;  and  when  appealed  to  by  a  type  of  feminine 
nature  unequalled  in  the  past  and  present,  and  unsur- 
passable in  the  future,  they  effected  in  him  a  moral 
resurrection,  became  the  source  of  new  positivist  inspi- 
rations, and  completed  the  conditions  of  his  great  mis- 
sion —  to  re-organize  entirely  the  whole  of  human 
existence  on  the  principle  of  giving  ascendency  to  the 
heart  over  the  understanding.  Of  this  lady,  though 
he  speaks  of  her  in  all  his  prefaces  as  an  object  of 
interest  to  the  vshole  world,  we  know  nothing  except 
that  she  was  unhappy,  and  converted  Comte  from  philo- 
sophical vigor  to  puerile  sentimentality.  She  had 
begun,  it  seems,  a  fiction  (  Wilhlmine)  intended  to 
correct  the  mischievous  influence  of  the  doctrines  of 
Mme.  Dudevant ;  and  her  admirer  makes  it  a  topic 
of  special  praise,  both  of  her  and  of  himself,  that  not- 
withstanding tlieir  own  unfavorable  experience,  they 
always  inculcated  the  sacredness  of  marriage,  and  re- 
sisted the  laxity  of  domestic  morals  too  prevalent  in 
France.  When,  however,  he  tells  us  that  the  heroine 
of  the  unfinished  tale  was  to  "  have  passed  successively 
through  the  chief  actual  aberrations,"  preserved  through 
all  by  natural  purity  and  elevation,  so  as  to  end  at  last 


10  C0.A1TE'S   life   and   nilLOSOPHY. 

in  domestic  felicity,  it  is  difficult  to  recognijEC  tlio 
superiority  in  moral  conception  to  the  novels  of  George 
Sand ;  nor  can  we  wonder  that  the  authoress's  family 
were  unwilling,  after  her  death,  to  give  effect  to  her 
wish  that  the  Ms.  should  be  left  in  Comte's  hands.  A 
single  year  was  the  term  of  that  "  incomparahle  object- 
ive union  "  which  was  to  alter  his  whole  future  career ; 
her  early  death  then  restored  him  to  his  solitude,  and 
left  him,  as  he  says,  to  the  fainter  though  more  assidu- 
ous exercise  of  "subjective  adoration."  Had  any  rem- 
nant of  religious  belief  still  clung  to  him,  this  event 
would  have  swept  it  away  :  "  Were  it  possible,"  he 
says,  "for  my  reason  ever  to  go  back  to  that  theologi- 
cal condition  which  is  adapted  only  to  the  infancy  of 
humanity,  this  catastrophe  would  suffice  to  make  me 
reject  with  indignation  the  providential  optimism  which 
affects  to  console  our  miseries  by  enjoining  on  us  a 
stupid  admiration  of  the  most  frightful  disorders. 
Kver-innocent  victim  as  thou  art,  scarcely  knowing 
life  but  by  its  deepest  griefs,  thou  art  laid  low  at  the 
very  moment  when  at  length  a  worthy  personal  happi- 
ness commenced,  closely  connected  with  a  human  social 
mission!  And  I  too,  though  less  pure  —  did  I  de- 
serve, after  so  many  unjust  sufferings,  to  have  thus 
finjstrated  the  long-delayed  felicity  reserved  f>r  a  lonely 
existence  constantly  devoted,  from  its  opening,  to  the 
fundamental  service  of  humanity?  Does  not,  more- 
over, this  twofold  private  calamity  constitute  a  public 
loss  in  a  way  to  exclude  all  idea  of  compensation?" 
With  this  sentiment  he  seems  to  have  completely  im- 
bued her  own  mind,  little  as  it  seems  to  breathe  the 
feminine  tenderness  which  he  ascribes  to  her ;  for  she 


COaiTE'S    LIFE    AKD    PIIILOSOrirY.  11 

died  ropcatinsf  again  and  again  the  strong-minded  pro- 
test that  she  did  not  deserve  so  to  sufter  and  be  cut  off. 
The  philosopher's  heart,  however,  once  softened, 
scarcely  knows  how  to  make  enough  of  its  newly-dis- 
covered susceptibilities.  Not  only  did  the  image  of  his 
mother,  whom  he  acknowledges  to  have  inadequately 
loved  during  her  lifetime,  —  terminated  f )urteen  }ears 
before,  —  now  appear  to  him  in  a  more  affecting  light; 
but  his  servant-maid,  —  "the  incomparable  So[)hie," 
endowed,  as  he  observes,  with  the  fortunate  inability  to 
read,  whicli  tlie  more  strongly  brings  out  her  rectitude 
and  penetration,  —  becomes  a  model  of  womanly  per- 
fection, and  com[)letes  his  triad  of  guardian  angels. 
He  celebrates  them  all  as  concerned  in  the  tardy  realiza- 
tion of  his  emotional  life,  and  wishes  it  to  be  under- 
stood that  their  inspiration  is  silently  present  in  the 
whole  execution  of  his  great  mission.  But  Madame 
Clotilde  is  still  the  dominant  influence  ;  and  the  terms 
in  which  the  influence  is  described  are  most  extraor- 
dinary, exhibiting  the  extravagance  of  passion  without 
its  poetry,  and  reduced  to  a  mere  affair  of  quantity, 
and  uttering  its  devotion  in  tones  that  seem  rather  to 
mock  at  other  religion  than  to  breathe  their  own. 
What  Dante  has  done  for  Beatrice,  Comtc  will  more 
effectually  accomplish  for  his  "holy  Clotilde;"  whose 
name,  associated  with  his  own,  is  to  go  down  and  be 
preserved  in  the  most  distant  and  imperishable  memo- 
ries of  a  grateful  humanity.  And  it  is  highly  charac- 
teristic, that  her  title  to  this  eternal  distinction  is  always 
her  influence  upon  him,  and  therefore  her  instrumen- 
tality in  the  development  of  Positivism  :  his  system, 
liis   discoveries,   his   genius,  constitute   the   grand   [)er- 


12  COMTE'S  life   and   PHILOSOrHT. 

manent  essence ;  as  connected  with  his  public  life  an 
importance  belongs  to  his  private  life,  and  this  impor- 
tance is  shared  by  her  who  so  powerfully  moved  liini. 
The  impression  throughout  is  simply  this  :  "  When  the 
Himalayas  fall  in  love  and  make  sonnets  of  thunder, 
the  most  distant  hamlets  of  the  plain  will  ask  *  Who  is 
it?'"  It  was  through  her  angelic  agency  that  he  has 
become  a  really  double  organ  for  human  nature,  the 
representative  at  once  of  its  intellect  and  of  its  soul ; 
and  without  her  he  would  never  have  been  able,  in  his 
own  person,  to  append  to  the  career  of  an  Aristotle 
that  of  a  St.  Paul  !  He  certainly  awards  to  the  "  new 
Beatrice  "  titles  which  have  no  parallel  in  the  immortal 
verse  that  celebrates  the  elder  one ;  for  she  is  at  once 
his  "  subjective  molher^^  the  soiu'ce  of  his  second  and 
regenerated  life,  and  his  "  objective  daughter,'^  the 
docile  pupil  of  his  first  and  intellectual  life.  Nor  do 
merely  human  analogies  and  relations  suffice  to  ex[)ress 
and  satisfy  liis  feeling.  This  lady  is  to  be  recognized, 
not  by  him  alone  in  his  three  daily  prayers,  but  by  all 
truly  regenerate  people,  as  "  the  best  personification  of 
the  Supreme  Being."  Candor,  however,  requires  us  to 
acknowledge  that,  in  claiming  this  highest  distinction, 
he  is  by  no  means  exclusive  in  his  affection  ;  for  within 
a  few  pages  he  says,  that  to  the  positivists  every  worthy 
woman  habitually  furnishes  the  best  representation  of 
the  true  Grand-Etre,  and  that  the  affective  sex  is,  in  his 
system,  set  up  as  the  moral  Providence  of  the  human 
race.  In  his  annual  circular  of  1853,  addressed  to  the 
tributaries  who  furnish  his  subsidy,  he  explains  how  it 
is  that  he  spends  so  much  more  of  his  moderate  income 
in  house-rent  than  in  maintenance ;   he  admits  that  his 


comte's  life  and  philosophy.  13 

lodgings,  strictly  speaking,  exceed  his  actual  material 
wants,  hut  urges  that  they  were  the  "scene  of  his  moral 
regeneration  under  the  angelic  impulse  which  com- 
manded his  second  life  ; "  and,  considering  the  decisive 
blessings  which  the  West  has  already  received  from  this 
source,  he  would  charge  with  ingratitude  all  those  who, 
sharing  the  public  and  private  benefits  of  the  new  reli- 
gion, would  let  him  be  torn  from  the  scene  of  their 
origin.  These  holy  walls,  with  the  adored  image  for 
ever  imprinted  on  them,  are  a  daily  help  in  developing 
an  intimate  worship  of  the  best  personation  of  the 
Supreme  Being ;  and  have  proved  so  "  during  all  those 
years,  already  not  a  few,  in  which  her  glorious  subject- 
ive eternity  has  taken  the  place  (alas,  too  soon)  of  her 
sad  objective  existence."  There,  under  this  resistless 
patronage,  such  a  harmony  establishes  itself  between  his 
pi-ivate  and  his  i)ublic  life,  that  the  advances  of  each 
may  soon  extend  to  the  other ;  so  as  to  make  him  feel 
the  true  theory  of  their  unity  long  before  putting  it  into 
ex[)ression.  Thus  the  same  environment  which  wit- 
nessed liis  first  regeneration  will  soon  find  itself  con- 
secrated by  many  decisive  celebrations  of  the  chief 
social  sacraments.  "  I  have  just  completed,"  he  says, 
"the  principal  part  of  my  religious  structure,  and  the 
decisive  little  work  in  which  the  subjective  participation 
of  my  holy  eternal  companion  is  already  unanimously 
recognized.  How  else  shall  I  be  able  to  achieve,  with 
equal  advantage,  the  remainder  of  the  principal  ebibo- 
ration,  and  even  the  less  important  works  that  will  fol- 
low? I  have  already  reached  the  age  when  I  must 
scrupulously  administer  my  time  and  my  means  of  ex- 
ecuting, with  full  cerebral  vigor,  all  that  I  promised  at 


14  cojite's  life  and  piiiLosopiir. 

the  end  of  my  fundamental  work.  It  is  for  this  reason 
that  I  shall  always  repudiate  the  stupid  material  eeono- 
niy  Avhicrh  would  deprive  nie  of  a  ])o\vcrful  spiritual 
assistance."  The  fantastic  forms  under  which,  here  and 
elsewhere,  the  author's  egotism  and  self-exaggeration 
present  themselves ;  the  elaborate  minuteness  with 
which  for  the  benefit  of  the  "West"  and  the  "Future" 
lie  publishes  his  sickliest  feelings  ;  the  pomp  with  which 
he  claims  "eternal  veneration"  Jis  well  as  temporal 
maintenance  for  his  "noble  services,"  —  might  induce  ;i 
suspicion  that  he  is  playing  a  })art,  and  jjracti^ing  on 
the  simplicity  of  his  disciples.  Nor  is  it  easy,  in  esti- 
mating minds  of  this  peculiar  constitution,  to  draw  the 
psychological,  or  even  the  moral,  distinction  between 
self-flattery  and  artful  misuse  of  the  confidence  of 
others.  But  Comte's  dogmatic  self-assertion,  whether 
it  speaks  in  maudlin  softness  or  with  hieratic  grandeur, 
we  believe  to  be  perfectly  sincere ;  the  homage  which  a 
nature  barren  of  every  superhuman  reverence,  and  pay- 
ing only  a  provisional  respect  to  the  past  phases  of 
mankind,  necessarily  turns  in  upon  itself.  Of  Divine 
and  permanent  in  the  universe  he  admits  nothing  ;  and 
of  its  progressive  phenomena  he  himself  is  the  newest 
and  ripest,  —  the  blossom  shaped  at  length  from  the 
rising  sap,  and  tinted  by  the  growing  light,  of  history. 
There  was  a  grand  fate  concerned,  he  intimates,  in  his 
encounter  with  Madame  Clotilde ;  the  rebirth  of  his 
heart  was  indispensable  ;  and  "  the  ensemble  of  human 
destinies  commissioned  an  incomparable  angel  to  deliver 
to  him  the  general  result  of  the  gradual  perfectionating 
of  our  moral  nature."  lie  evidently  looks  on  the  whole 
past  as  a  mere  prelude  to  his  own  labors,  and  having 


COMTE's    LIFE    AND    PHILOSOPHY.  15 

^ignificjincc  except  as  ushering;  tliem  in  ;  all  its  pro- 
Uucts,  like  the  nodding  sheaves  in  Joseph's  dream,  are 
to  stand  round  ujion  the  field  and  bow  to  him.  If  any 
thing  lingers  on  the  world  that  is  too  stifF-necked  and 
refractory  for  this,  it  will  simply  have  to  disappear; 
and  the  only  force  that  remains  to  older  modes  of 
thought  is  just  sufficient  for  the  process  of  mutual 
annihilation,  that  Positivism  may  enter  upon  the  cleared 
field  without  a  blow.  For  example,  throughout  the 
area  prepared  by  the  Roman  empire,  two  incompatible 
forms  of  monotheism,  Islam  and  Catholicism,  have  for 
upwards  of  a  millennium  aspired  to  universality  ;  at  last 
they  are  exhausted ;  for  Anc  centuries  the  Crescent  has 
renounced  its  pretensions  to  the  West,  and  the  Cross 
surrenders  to  its  "  eternal  antagonist "  the  very  locality 
which  it  first  consecrated.  The  ancient  territory  of  the 
civilized  world  is  nearly  equally  divided  between  the 
two  ;  they  have  no  longer  any  energy  tiiat  is  productive 
and  conquering,  but  only  enough  to  neutralize  and 
extinguish  each  other  in  favor  of  the  Positive  Philoso- 
phy. For  this  hour  the  philosophy,  through  its 
antecedents,  has  been  all  the  while  preparing  itself. 
Kemounting  by  the  steps  of  a  noble  filiation,  Conite 
claims  Hume  as  his  chief  forerunner  in  philosophy, 
with  Kant  as  an  accessory,  whose  fundamental  concep- 
tion waited  for  true  development  in  Positivism.  In 
relation  to  political  doctrine,  he  was  preceded  by  Con- 
dorcet,  in  conjunction  with  De  jSIaistre,  wliose  princi- 
ples first  became  fruitful  in  the  positive  school,  and  are 
nowhere  else  a})preciated.  Add  to  these  Bichat  and 
Gall  as  his  predecessors  in  scientific  physiology,  and 
you  luive  the  six  recent  names  that  connect  him  with 


16  co3iTE*s  Livr.  .l!;d  TTiiLOSonnr. 

the  three  systematic  fathers  of  the  true  modern  j)hiloso 
phy,  Bacon,  Descartes,  and  Leibnitz.  lli,<:;hcr  still,  he 
finds  himself  again  in  the  middle  ages,  under  the  cowl 
of  Thomas  Aquinas,  the  cloak  of  Roger  Bacon,  and 
the  wreath  of  Dante ;  and  thus  directly  re<achcs  his  true 
precursor,  the  prince  of  genuine  thinkers,  the  incom- 
parable Aristotle.  Though  the  world  was  not  ready 
till  now  for  the  final  retreat  of  monotheism  before  the 
positive  philosophy,  all  capable  thinkers  instinctively 
felt  their  relative  merits,  however  imperfectly  they  ex- 
pressed their  feeling.  Tacitus  and  Trajan,  it  is  now 
admitted,  were  right  in  pronouncing  "inimical  to  the 
human  race  "  a  religion  which  consigned  perfection  to  a 
celestial  isolation,  disowned  the  dignity  of  labor  by 
deducing  it  from  a  divine  curse,  and  made  woman  the 
source  of  all  evil.  Those  eminent  men  did  but  anti- 
cipate the  ultimate  judgment  of  matured  humanity. 
They  could  not  be  aware  of  the  provisional  benefits  of 
which,  during  the  infancy  of  a  new  civilization,  this 
faith  was  to  be  the  medium  ;  and  they  pronounced  what 
the  ripened  reason  of  our  age  at  length  confirms.  And 
when  the  Christian  priesthood  and  influence  had  finally 
become  effete  and  retrograde,  it  was  reserved  for  M. 
Comte,  by  fully  satisfying  tlie  intellect  and  sentiments 
of  these  last  days,  to  assume  the  Pontificate  of  Human- 
ity, and  vindicate  the  ancient  instinctive  antipathy  of 
philosophy  to  Christian  or  other  theology.  It  is  worthy 
of  remark,  however,  that  while,  in  his  survey  of  old 
times,  his  sympathies  resort  to  the  judgment  of  piiilo- 
sophic  emperors  and  historians  against  a  faith  of  the 
common  and  even  the  servile  class,  it  is  his  cue,  in 
dealing  with  the  present  day,  to  invert  this  order  of 


COMTE's   life   and   PniLOSOPHY.  17 

preference,  to  speak  slightingly  of  the  educated  and 
ruling  orders  of  society,  and  to  pay  special  court  to  the 
proletary  class,  especially  the  women  among  them,  and 
above  all,  if  they  have  the  "fortunate  inability  to  read." 
Among  these  alone,  he  says,  can  be  found  the  openness 
to  rcid  truth,  and  the  reverent  docility  necessary  to  true 
disciple.shi[) ;  the  freedom  from  pre-;)Ceu[)ation  by  either 
retrograde  or  anarchical  ideas  ;  and  more  particularly, 
the  mind  unspoiled  by  pretended  private  judgment  on 
political  and  other  matters  quite  beyond  them.  Al- 
ready has  the  proletary  class  suffered  in  this  way  from 
the  exercise  of  universal  suftVage  ;  and  only  in  women, 
through  their  hap})y  exemption  from  political  lights  and 
interests,  has  the  requisite  submissivcness  of  spirit  been 
preserved.  To  them,  therefore,  he  especially  appeals  ; 
not  without  a  consciousness  that  he  has  some  resistance 
to  expect  from  their  feeling  in  favor  of  certain  doctrines 
on  which  he  throws  contempt,  in  particular  the  doctrine 
of  a  future  life.  But  this  repugnance,  he  assures  them, 
is  quite  a  mistake  ;  and  if  they  will  only  reflect  that  he 
makes  them  the  true  personification  of  the  Grand-.Etrc, 
and  through  their  influence  on  the  affections  of  men 
gives  them  a  subjective  immortality  in  the  minds  of 
others,  they  will  be  convinced  that  his  system  is  far 
from  being  dry  and  cold,  and  will  be  ashamed  to  regret 
the  loss  of  a  mere  egoistic  futurity.  Does  not  posi- 
tivism lay  down  the  law  of  "eternal  widowhood"  {i.e. 
forbid  second  marriages)  ?  How,  then,  can  it  be  said 
not  to  provide  an  honorable  homage  to  feminine  affec- 
tion ?  In  all  this  bidding  for  support  from  j)articular 
classes,  there  is  surely  something  little  wortliy  of  either 
a  philosophy  or  a  faith.      And  when  we  connect  with  i( 


18  comte's  life  and  pinLOEOPiir. 

the  assertion,  in  the  fifth  volume  of  his  first  <p*eat  woik, 
that  probably  up  to  that  time  he  wjis  iiimsclf  his  only 
disciple,  it  can  scarcely  fail  to  appear  like  the  expres- 
sion of  morbid  disappointment.  The  more  and  more 
eccentric  displays  of  pretension  which  characterize  his 
later  volumes,  are  painful  to  all  who  appreciate  iiis 
earlier  genius.  But  they  are  too  curious  as  psycholo- 
gical studies,  and  too  vitally  connected  with  the  dis- 
tinctive type  of  his  doctrine,  to  be  left  out  of  sight. 
Indeed,  he  so  constantly  insists  on  the  inseparable  con- 
nection of  his  subjective  experience  witli  his  public 
action  on  the  world,  that  it  is  impossible,  by  his  own 
rule,  to  characterize  his  system  without  tracing  the 
manifestations  of  his  idiosyncrasy. 

The  episodical  treatise  in  which  arc  found  the  most 
peculiar  exhibitions  of  his  later  mode,  is  the  Uate- 
chisnie  PosUioiste,  announced,  as  translated  by  Mr. 
Congreve,  at  the  head  of  this  article.  It  was  published 
towards  the  end  of  1852,  and  forms  a  kind  of  excur.sn.<t 
from  the  second  volume  of  his  Politique.  It  is  in  the 
form  of  dialogue,  between  himself,  as  sacerdotal  in- 
structor, and  an  "angelic  interlocutrLx,"  who  is  no  other 
than  Madame  Clotilde.  The  conversations  unfold  the 
mysteries  of  the  positivist  "religion  ;  "  the  attributes  of 
the  "  incomparable  goddess  "  of  humanity  ;  the  "  insti- 
tution of  guardian  angels ; "  the  three  daily  j)rayers  ; 
the  organization  of  the  priesthood,  and  the  whole  ritual 
and  calendar  of  this  new  anti-faith.  The  date  of  pub- 
lication was  purposely  fixed  neiir  the  commencement  of 
Louis  Napoleon's  dictatorship.  That  crisis,  the  author 
intimates,  had  imposed  a  salutary  silence  on  all  bal)- 
blers  {i.e.  had  extinguished  journalism,  political  Jissu- 


comte's  life  and  philosophy.  19 

ciatlon,  and  discussion)  ;  and  he  avails  liiinself  of  the 
sudden  stilhiess  to  obtain  a  hearing,  and  to  "  direct 
especially  the  feminine  and  the  proletary  thought  to  his 
fundamental  revolution."  His  previous  scientific  ex- 
positions address  to  the  po[)ular  mind  too  antipathic  a 
treatment  to  win  the  indispensable  success  ;  and  to  meet 
the  conditions  of  active  ])ro[)agation,  he  turns  outward 
the  moral  and  effective  side  of  his  doctrine,  asking  leave 
to  use  only  two  pairs  of  strictly  scientific  terms,  which 
he  cannot  do  without,  viz.  "  statical  and  diftianiical,^^ 
^objective  and  su/jj'ective."  Here,  then,  if  anywhere, 
we  may  expect  to  find  the  results  on  which  he  dwells 
with  greatest  ])ride  ;  and  if  we  must  seek  in  his  larger 
works  the  logical  root  and  evolution  of  his  system,  here 
is  the  depository  of  its  choicest  fruits.  Yet,  strange  to 
say,  the  bt)ok  is  inconceivably  absurd  ;  and  it  is  only  in 
the  literature  of  Mormonism  that  any  thing  more  child- 
ish and  dismal  can  be  found.  Mr.  Congreve's  affec- 
tionate reverence  for  his  master  is  undoubted  ;  and  the 
aim  of  this  translation  is  certainly  to  glorify,  not  humil- 
iate, the  new  hierophant.  People  have  always  differed 
about  monuments  ;  and  Aladame  Tussaud  is  known  to 
believe  that  the  saints  and  heroes  look  best  in  waxwork 
and  their  own  old  clothes. 

Since  the  publication  of  the  books  of  Exodus  and 
Leviticus,  no  more  elaborate  system  of  "religion"  has 
api)eared  than  M.  Comte's.  It  has  its  cidtas,  private 
and  public;  its  organization  of  dogma ;  its  discipline, 
penetrating  to  the  whole  of  life  ;  its  altars,  its  temples, 
its  symbolism,  its  prescribed  gestures  and  times;  its 
ratios  and  lengtii  of  the  different  parts  and  sorts  of 
prayer  ;    its  rules  fur  opening  ur  shutting  the  eyes  ;    its 


20  COMTE'S    life    and    nilLOSOPIIY. 

ecclesjiiastlcal  courts  and  rules  of  canonlziuion  ;  its  onlors 
of  priesthood  and  scale  of  benefices  ;  its  adjustment  of 
the  temporal  to  the  spiritual  power ;  its  novitiate  and 
consecration  ;  its  nine  sacraments  :  its  angels,  its  la^t 
judgment,  its  paradise  :  in  short,  all  inmginable  requi- 
sites of  a  religion,  —  except  a  God.  Were  it  not  for 
tliis  omission,  we  should  feel  an  interest  in  examining  a 
stnicture  so  curious  and  careful.  I5ut  in  presence  of 
this  blank,  any  serious  estimate  of  the  scheme  would 
be  as  idle  as  for  the  <;eoi;rai)her  to  discuss  the  climate 
and  flora  of  his  dreams,  or  the  architect  to  measure  the 
spires  of  the  frost-work  and  criticise  the  castles  in  the 
clouds. 

It  may  well  be  asked,  what  possible  principle  of  co- 
herence, what  inner  meaning  at  all,  there  can  be  in  a 
system  professing  atheism,  yet  propagating  a  "reli- 
gitMi."  ^^'ith  the  answer  to  this  natural  inquiry  we 
shall  be  content,  and  tlien  proceed  to  a  less  repulsive 
side  of  our  author's  doctrine.  His  originality  is  sonic- 
timcs  too  great  for  his  conservatism  ;  and  he  wants  now 
and  then  some  equivalent  for  what  he  has  been  ruth- 
lessly cancelling.  Having  superseded  "  monotheism," 
lie  finds  it  necessary  to  invent  a  "  new  Supreme  Being  ;" 
and  such  Being  he  has  accordingly  provided,  and 
ordered  to  be  represented  in  statuary  by  "  a  woman  of 
thirty  with  a  child  in  her  arms."  This  Grand-Etre  is 
"the  aggregate  of  co-operative  beings  endowed  with 
nervous  systems  of  three  centres  ; "  *  the  sinn-total  of 
the  civilized  or  progressive  part  of  our  race,  whether 

•  Kt'flexions  syiitlit'tifjues,  au  point  de  vuc  po^itivistc,  siir  la  I'liilcsophic, 
la  Morale  t-t  la  lloli-xion;  court  Af)er<;ii  dc  la  lieligioii  positive,  &c.  sjsti'ina- 
tu^  oil  IbmU'c  liar  Augustu  Coiiite,  p.  G5. 


COMTE*S   J-l^-^K   AND   PHILO?Ot^"y.  2^ 

past,  present,  or  future  ;  the  picked  clay  of  humanity, 
that  falls  kindly  into  an  idealizinp^  mould.  The  gieater 
portion  of  mankind's  aotxjtoi.  havini^  become  historical, 
and  each  generation  adding  its  quota  to  the  noble  dead, 
"  the  Supreme  Being  is  not  yet  fully  formed,"  but  re- 
ceives "  new  component  parts  "  so  long  as  our  planet 
remains  habitable  by  men.  "  In  the  composition  of  the 
Great  Being  the  dead  occupy  the  first  place,  then  those 
who  are  yet  to  be  born.  The  two  together  are  far 
more  numerous  than  the  living,  most  of  whom  too  are 
only  its  servants,  without  the  power  at  [)resent  of  be- 
coming its  organs.  There  are  but  few  men,  and  still 
fewer  women,  who  admit  of  being  satisfactorily  judged 
in  this  respect  before  the  completion  of  their  objective 
career"  (p.  81)).  After  death,  however,  —  so  it  is 
said  with  shocking  burlesque,  —  there  comes  to  each 
the  judgment,  that  is,  the  verdict  of  his  fellow-citizens 
whether  he  is  worthy  to  be  contributed  to  the  Grcind- 
Etre;  and  should  he  be  voted  into  so  sublime  a  ])lace, 
his  presence  thenceforward  in  the  recognized  ideal  of 
humanity  constitutes  his  "future  life," — his  "subjective 
immortality." 

We  need  not  proceed  further.  What  the  worship  of 
saints  would  be,  if  the  King  of  Samts  were  dead,  — 
nay,  what  the  sceptic  Euhemerus  actually  supposed  the 
Hellenic  mythology  to  be, — such  deification  of  mortals 
in  default  of  an  Inunortal  is  the  avowed  religion  of 
positivism.  The  minutest  prescriptions  are  given  for 
conducting  the  whole  process,  both  mental  and  ritual. 
At  your  altar  in  the  morning,  for  instance,  you  are  to 
adore  your  mother,  —  probably  (if  you  are  adult)  "  be- 
come subjective "  to  you,  and  requiring  to  be  brought 


22  COMTk's    life    and    I'IIILOSOPHY. 

before  your  secret  *  ision.  To  lu'l[)  (lie  effort  and  ex- 
j)ress  tlie  in\varilncsi.3  of  the  object,  you  must  shut  your 
eyes.  This  done,  you  first  set  up  the  place  on  which 
the  figure  is  to  enter  ;  next,  fix  her  intended  attitude  ; 
thirdly,  ciioose  her  dress;  and  tlien,  at  length,  permit 
herself  to  glide  into  view  ;  taking  care  to  idealize  by 
subtraction  only,  not  by  addition.  In  due  order,  the 
prayer  to  her  ensues ;  consisting  for  the  first  half  of 
the  hour  in  "  conunemoration  "  of  her  goodness  ;  then, 
for  the  rest,  in  "effusion"  of  the  feelings  thus  awakened. 
The  evening  prayer  is  to  be  said  in  bed,  and  to  be  only 
half  as  long ;  and  the  midday  devotion  may  limit  itself 
to  recitals  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  The  wife  and  the 
daughter  (or,  for  a  woman,  the  husband  and  son)  arc 
to  be  conjoined  as  guardian  angels  with  the  mother, 
and  to  have  their  tuin  of  homage.  The  public  worship 
only  applies  the  same  principle  to  a  wider  circle  of  rela- 
tions, rumiing  through  and  celebrating  all  the  great 
social  ties,  the  several  stages  of  human  progress,  the 
natural  classes  of  the  body-jjolitic ;  and  forming  an 
ecclesiastical  calendar,  with  special  services  all  through 
the  year.  The  temples  are  all  to  face  towards  the 
metropolis  of  humanity,  —  Paris,  of  course  ;  but  mean- 
while the  positivists  will  not  ol)ject  to  use  the  churches 
and  cathedrals  as  they  are,  and  occupy  them  as  they 
fall  into  disuse,  pjven  the  Madonnas  may  pass  well 
enough,  with  altered  name,  for  the  Goddess  of  Human- 
ity. But  instead  of  the  cross  (or  of  the  crescent) 
must  be  substituted,  as  sign  of  the  faith,  the  curve 
described  by  the  hand  in  touching  the  three  chief  cere- 
bral origans.  There  are  no  elements  too  inconi^ruous 
to  blend  in  this  stranjre  "relii;ion."     The  dissectinfj- 


uomte's  life  axd  phi  osoriir.  23 

room,  tlic  ]ii.;h  iiltiir,  tlie  lo\cr's  bower,  all  subscribfi 
tiieir  proportion  to  its  ceremonial  and  sentiment;  not 
without  an  ever-rccnrring  pre[)onclerance  of  the  last, 
significantly  expressed  in  tlie  saying,  that  "  soon  the 
knee  of  man  will  never  bend  except  to  woman.'** 

It  is  dreary  enough,  yet  pathetic  too,  to  stand  by  and 
see  the  great  materialist  elaborately  mimic  the  Catholic 
Church,  wliich  had  surrounded  his  youth  with  its  forms 
without  holding  his  manhood  by  its  faith.  The  mean- 
ing was  gone,  but  the  picture  remained,  and  looked  in 
at  eveiy  deeper  and  gentler  hour  with  a  lingering 
charm.  The  sacrament  of  early  life  was  disenchanted  ; 
yet  he  could  not  withdraw  his  eye.  He  forgot  that  the 
wine  of  the  Real  Presence  was  poured  out,  and  adored 
the  emj)ty  cup.  His  plagiarisms  from  Catholicism  are 
not  confined  to  the  details  of  external  ritual.  He 
owns,  and  tries  to  imitate,  the  vast  moral  power  it  ex- 
ercises through  its  biographical  traditions,  its  gallery 
of  martyrs  and  saints  ;  and  to  embody  this  education 
by  ideals  is  one  of  the  chief  ambitions  of  iiis  system. 
He  missed  the  deeper  truth,  that  these  lesser  pieties 
depend  upon  a  greater ;  that  the  himian  reverences  con- 
stitute a  true  hierarchy,  which  falls  into  confusion  when 
the  Supreme  term  is  gone ;  that  though  lower  men  may 
ffive  veneration  to  a  hi<>lier,  he  Is  hii>her  no  more  if  in 
his  heart  he  accej)ts  it ;  and  that  only  when  the  whole 
heart  of  humanity  is  habitually  drawn  u[)ward  In  trust 
of  a  Living  Perfection,  can  we  safely  apportion  homage 
to  one  another.  Once  or  twice,  indeed,  the  suspicion 
Kcems  to  cross  him  that,  if  indeed  we  stand  at  the 
head  of  living  natures,  the  conditions  of  any  collecti\e 

•  roliti(iue  positive,  vol.  i.  p.  259. 


24  comte's  life  axd  rjiiLOSOPiiY. 

humility  must  fail,  and  that  it  would  be  better  for  as- 
})iration  could  we  retain  the  sense  of  "our  inferiority  to 
angelic  beings."  But  there  will  ever  "appear  ab(  ve 
us"  (so  he  answers  his  own  misgiving)  "a  type  of 
Ileal  Perfection,  below  which  we  must  still  remain, 
though  it  invites  our  persevering  efforts  to  continual 
approximatifm."  May  we  not  ask,  Where,  then,  do 
you  find  this  "  type  of  Real  Perfection  above  us  ?  "  Is 
it  indeed  Heal  to  you?  Or  is  it  Ideal, — and  that  in 
the  poor  sense  of  being  merely  imaginarij?  If  we 
stand  at  the  summit  of  the  hierarchy,  the  space  "above 
us "  is  a  blank,  and  has  neither  "  type "  nor  attraction 
anv  whither.  The  anirels  and  God  beinfj  removed,  no 
concrete  personal  living  "  perfection  "  exists  beyond  our 
humanity,  and  what  you  substitute  is  an  abstraction 
feigned  by  our  forecasting  fancy  —  not  an  actual  Being 
other  than  ourselves,  but  a  potential  state  of  certain 
future  selves.  Is  not  this  ])Oor  ghost,  which  counter- 
feits the  "  Real "  object  of  faith  and  trust,  an  involun- 
tary testimony  to  the  indispensable  energy  of  that 
religious  aspiration  for  which  Comte's  universe  is  empty 
of  all  provision? 

From  this  desolate  side  of  positivism  we  gladly  turn 
to  estimate  some  of  its  distinctive  features  as  a  theory 
of  human  knowledge  and  a  classification  of  the  sciences. 
Its  leading  positions  are  these  : 

Theology  and  Metaphysics  are  two  successive  stages 
of  nescience  unavoidable  as  preludes  to  all  Science. 

AVe  can  know  nothing  but  phenomena,  their  co-exist- 
ences and  successions ;  and  the  test  of  our  knowledge 
is  prevision. 

By  "  phenomena  "  must  be  understood  objects  of  pe)'' 


co.mte's  life  axd  philosophy.  25 

ccptlon,  to  tlic  excliij^ion  of  psycliological  cliange  rc- 
])utcd  to  be  self-known. 

The  idea  of  Causality,  efficient  or  final,  is  an  illusion 
which  should  be  expelled  from  philosophy. 

The  sciences  logically  arrange  themselves  in  a  certain 
series,  according  to  the  growing  complexity  of  their 
jihenoniena  ;  and  their  historical  agrees  with  their  logical 
order. 

The  first  and  the  last  of  these  positions  involve  his- 
torical assertions,  as  to  the  actual  procedure  of  the 
human  mind,  of  the  most  sweeping  kind.  To  test 
them  satisfactorily  would  require  a  survey  of  the  whole 
march  (»f  civilization,  and  a  critique  upon  its  springs 
of  movement  j)Ossible  only  to  the  regular  historian  of 
knowledge.  It  is  easy  enough,  over  so  wide  a  field,  to 
gather  and  group  examples  in  confirmation  or  in  dis- 
proof; but  the  evidence  of  a  general  law  depends  on 
the  balance  of  the  whole,  and  can  only  be  estimated 
on  the  large  scale.  AVe  siiall  not  attempt,  therefore, 
to  explain  the  grounds  of  our  prevailing  dissent  from 
Comte's  historical  rules,  or  the  connections  which  might 
perhaps  save  whatever  truth  they  have.  We  address 
ourselves  in  jireference  to  the  three  intermediate  posi- 
tions, which  are  the  real  key  to  the  whole  S3stem. 

A  question,  however,  arises  in  limine  as  to  the 
name  of  this  "  philosophy."  Why  call  it  "  I^ositive"? 
From  what  is  it  discriminated  by  this  epithet?  The 
terms  with  which  it  stands  in  contrast,  and  which  mark 
what  it  would  exclude  and  re[)lace,  ai'c  "theological''^ 
and  "  melaphtjsical"  lint  neither  of  these  is  its 
pioper  correlate,  or  would  ever  occur  to  the  mind  in 
coxmection  with   it.      Each   of  them   miiiht   be   thrown 


26  cojite's  life  and  philosophy. 

into  various  antitheses:  "theological"  might  be  o)> 
posetl  to  anthropologic,  to  atiieistic,  to  naturalistic, 
&c.  ;  "metaphysical,"  to  physical,  to  historical,  to 
logical,  vScc.  ;  but  cannot,  in  vn-tue  of  its  own  meaning 
or  (letiuition,  be  nuide  a  contrary  to  "positive."  Tiio 
only  opposition  into  which  this  word  can  be  thrown  ia 
expreised  by  the  term  ^^  negative ;  "  and  what  Conite 
really  means  to  intimate  by  this  j)hrase  is,  that  there  ia 
nothing  at  all  in  eitiicr  theology  or  metaphysics,  and 
that  his  procedure  is  distinguished  from  them  both  by 
having  all  the  realilg  to  itself.  He  is  quite  at  liberty 
to  think  so,  and  to  make  good  the  boast,  if  he  can  ;  but 
to  embody  it  in  liis  nomenclature,  and  ado[)t  it  as  the 
base  of  his  chissification,  is  in  the  highest  degree  un- 
philosopliical,  an  offence  at  once  against  logical  pre- 
cision and  moral  propriety.  To  arrogate  merit  under 
the  guise  of  a  scientific  division,  is  quite  inadmissible, 
except  in  the  code  of  quack-advertisements  and  eccle- 
siastical polemics.  It  is  as  if  we  were  to  divide  human 
studies  into  j)olitics,  poetry,  and  .ve^.se;  or  to  classify 
men  as  merchants,  farmers,  and  fools.  If  we  take 
away  the  coloring  of  self-praise  involved  in  the  word 
"positive,"  the  attribute  which  we  require  to  mark  is 
sim[)ly  this,  —  the  limitation  of  research  to  iihe- 
noniena,  in  their  orders  of  resemblance,  co-existence, 
and  succession ;  an  idea  which  the  word  'positive  has 
no  tendency  wiiatever  to  convey.  Phenomenological^ 
as  opposed  to  ontological,  indicates  the  character  which 
Comte  requires  to  express ;  and  had  he  stated  it  thus, 
we  should  have  recognized  an  old  and  well-established 
antithesis,  and  perceived  that  the  theology  and  meta- 
physics which  he  separates  into  two  states  are  essentially 


comte's  life  and  philosophy.  27 

one;  conjointly,  indeed,  opposed  to  his  exclusiveness, 
but  only  on  principles  common  to  them  both.  The 
recognition  of  reality  behind  appearance,  of  causation 
as  well  as  manifestation,  is  that  which  they  assume  and 
Comte  denies.  The  nature  of  the  controversy  is  dis- 
guised, and  its  issue  taken  for  granted,  by  the  substitu- 
tion of  a  threefold  for  a  twofold  classification,  and  the 
appropriation  to  the  final  form  of  a  laudatory  predicate 
instead  of  a  neutral  definition. 

Beyond  the  petitio  2^^'iii^<^ipii  involved  in  this  choice 
of  a  woi'd,  nothing  whatever  is  advanced  to  show  that 
phenomena  and  their  laws  are  the  only  accessible  objects 
of  human  thought.  The  principle  is  diligently  re- 
iterated without  end  ;  but  its  evidence  is  never  adduced, 
and  the  difficulties  attending  its  admission  are  nowhere 
appreciated.  The  axiom  being  laid  down  that  phe- 
nomena are  all  in  all  (and  further,  as  we  shall  see,  that 
perception  is  the  sole  medium  of  intelligence),  it  is 
clear  that  there  can  be  no  knowledge  but  physical  ;  and 
it  id  only  stating  this  proposition  Irom  the  other  side,  to 
say  that  all  theological  and  metaphysical  concej)tions 
which  go  beyond  phenomena  are  invalid  ;  they  nuist  be 
negative,  if  only  the  other  be  positive.  Tried  by  the 
tests  of  physical  knowledge,  ontological  cannot  but 
fail ;  its  genius  being  wholly  different,  and  its  criteria 
not  the  same.  It  is  the  perpetual  boast  of  Comte 
that  positive  science  gives  prevision,  a  trium{)h  never 
won  by  its  rivals.  True,  but  not  very  conclusive  ;  for 
^jrevision,  — the  perception  of  what  is  to  turn  up  here- 
after,—  is  an  apprehension  of  pAe?io;«e;?rt,  and  natu- 
rally nuist  arise  from  the  study  of  phenomena,  and  not 
from   refiection   on    realities   other   than  phenomena, 


28 .  comte's  life  and  piiiLOSoriiT. 

So  far  forth  ns  theolojry  and  metaphysics  have  presumed 
to  obtrudo  thcmt:elves  into  any  scienoe  of  observation, 
and  U6urp  its  proper  work,  so  far  have  they  mistaken 
their  province,  and  deserved  the  reproach  of  failure. 
Kotliing  thiit  they  can  teach  respecting  the  causation 
and  meaning  of  things  will  enable  us  to  determine  be- 
forehand the  particular  course  of  cosmical  or  human 
events,  or  in  the  least  dispense  with  the  necessity  of 
inductive  research.  It  is  one  thing  to  have  true  faith 
and  insight  respecting  the  infinite  sources  of  all  possi- 
bilities, and  quite  another  to  be  familiar  with  the  order 
of  concrete  actualities.  But  this  rule  reads  both  ways ; 
and  if  there  be  no  right  of  road  in  one  direction, 
neither  is  there  in  the  other ;  and  Comte  can  no  more 
disturb  the  theolocjian's  truth  than  the  theologian  can 
interfere  with  his.  If  prevision  is  impossible,  if  we 
cannot  operate  forward  from  the  absolute  to  the  rela- 
tive, conversely  we  cannot  operate  backward  from  the 
relative  to  the  absolute  ;  and  the  positivist  should  as 
little  pretend  to  deny  upwards  as  the  theologian  to  af- 
firm downwards.  As  no  theist  professes  that  God  is  a 
phenomenon,  the  failure  of  phenomenological  research 
to  meet  Him  contradicts  no  one's  faith  ;  and  the  boast 
of  one  investigator  that  he  found  no  God  at  the  end  of 
his  telescope,  and  of  another  that  the  cerebral  dissect- 
ing knife  comes  across  no  human  soul,  misconceived 
altogether,  though  quite  in  the  spirit  of  Comte,  the  fun- 
damental conditions  of  the  problem.  "Ovra  are  known, 
not  as  the  corollaries,  but  as  the  postulates,  of  pheno- 
mena ;  and  if  not  recognized  at  the  beginning,  will 
never  be  found  at  the  end.  The  two  orders  of  appre- 
hension, though  each  is  the  complement  of  the  other, 


comte's  life  and  philosophy.  •    20 

have  no  common  measure  ;    and  endless  contradiction 
arises  from  confounding  their  functions  and  methods. 

Above  all,  is  it  absurd  to  test  the  validity  of  theo 
logical  and  metaphysical  conceptions  by  their  power  of 
movement  and  "progress"?  Why,  the  very  sameness 
with  which  they  are  taunted, — their  patience  from  age 
to  age,  —  is  precisely  the  sole  conceivable  evidence  they 
could  offer  that  they  are  what  they  profess  to  be,  the 
representation  in  us  of  the  constancies  of  the  universe. 
And  nothing  could  more  effectually  discredit  them,  as 
the  steady  shadows  of  eternal  entity,  than  a  history  of 
growth  and  change.  If  they  indeed  be,  as  they  pre- 
tend, the  back<!:round  of  cojjnition  ansvverinix  to  the 
abiding  realities  which  hold  all  phenomena,  it  is  their 
business  and  function  to  keep  still.  Their  vindication 
lies  in  their  permanence.  They  are  the  conservative 
elements  of  all  knowledge  ;  the  base  and  condition  of 
movement,  but  not  the  moving  thing  ;  the  vital  atmos- 
phere that  sustains  it,  but  not  its  beating  wing.  Do 
you  complain  that  the  ideas  of  Causality,  of  Soul,  of 
God,  of  Substance,  never  get  on,  but  are  essentially 
what  they  always  were?  Instead  of  damaging  them, 
you  give  the  highest  possible  testimony  to  their  veracity 
and  authority.  Did  they  sweep  forward,  as  you  desire, 
they  would  belie  their  word,  and  be  detected  as  belong- 
ing to  the  tide  of  physical  change,  not  to  the  infinite 
deep  below.  If  on  account  of  this  stationary  cliaracter 
any  one  denies  to  these  ideas  the  name  of  knowledge  ; 
if  this  word,  as  implying  distinction  and  plurality,  be 
refused  to  the  self-identical  and  simple,  —  we  shall  not 
object,  provided  it  be  understood  that  tliey  are,  if  not 
knowledge,  the   conditions   of   knowledge ;    if  not  the 


30      '  COMTE'S    life    and   PHILOSOniY. 

object  seen,  the  light  by  which  vvc  see  ;  that  reliance  on 
them  is  indispensable  to  reading  the  universe  as  it  is, 
and  that  the  cidarging  field  of  phenomena  and  law  finds 
them  still  equal  to  their  all-compreiiensive  function, 
though  needing  revision  in  their  special  form  and  appli- 
cation. 

And  to  wliat,  after  all,  amount  the  alleged  "unpro- 
gressiveness  "  and  "  barrenness  "  of  all  conceptions  ex- 
cept of  phenomena  and  their  laws?  If  by  this  be 
meant  that  we  spin  no  theological  cotton,  and  lay  down 
no  metaphysical  telegraphs,  that  our  breakfast-table 
displays  our  electro-plate,  but  not  our  creed,  —  tlie 
remark  is  true,  but  trivial  enough.  If  it  asserts  that 
men's  private  temper,  and  family  administration,  and 
political  aims  and  social  sympathies,  are  unaffected  by 
their  religious  and  j)hil{)S()phical  convictions ;  that  those 
convictions  have  ceased  to  influence  what  tlie  poet 
writes,  the  historian  tells,  the  artist  paints,  what  the 
schoolmaster  teaches,  wimt  the  merclinnt  does  with  his 
wealth,  what  the  patriot  and  the  statesman  endeavor  to 
achieve  by  law,  —  the  statement  is  as  false  as  it  is 
startling.  Much  as  we  are  in  the  habit  of  hearing 
about  the  old  "ages  of  faith,"  when  nobody  doubted 
and  everybody  obeyed,  they  never  put  in  an  appear- 
ance in  real  history,  but  shrink  away  like  a  golden  age 
from  the  ilhunination  of  direct  evidence,  and  retire  into 
an  elder  darkness.  Beyond  the  select  enclosure  of  the 
Church  order,  there  have  always  been  hardy  and  defiant 
spirits,  or  thoughtless  and  indifferent,  or  subtle  and 
refined,  tliat  have  yielded  their  inner  life  but  little  to 
theological  authority ;  and  wherever  opportunity  of  ex- 
pression has   been  given,  as  in  the  earliest  poetry  of 


comte's  life  and  philosophy.  31 

France  and  Italy,  this  fact  lias  unambiguously  displaysd 
itself.  There  seems  no  reason  to  supi)pse  that  tlieo- 
logical  and  philosophical  ideas  ever  had  more  power  in 
the  world  than  they  have  at  this  moment ;  though  their 
scattered  and  unorganized  condition  precludes  them 
from  embodied  and  hierarchical  manifestation  of  auth  )r- 
ily.  M.  Comte  has  no  appreciation  of  the  freed o  n 
and  variety  of  movement  w^hich  the  human  mind  in  its 
modern  development  demands.  With  the  French  tevd- 
ency  to  idolize  the  "  unity  of  power,"  and  to  see  in  dis- 
tributed and  individual  forces  nothing  but  "a?iff/'67^^," 
lie  treats  the  insurrection  against  Catholicism  as  a  dis- 
solution of  faith ;  and  considers  all  the  private  and 
personal  substitutes  for  the  theocratic  regime  of  the 
Church  as  merely  provisional  disguises  of  irretrievable 
decay.  Nor  does  it  occur  to  him  that  it  is  illogical  to 
demand  from  the  theological  and  abstract  convictions 
of  men  the  same  direct  and  visible  ap[)lication  to  the 
business  of  the  passing  hour  of  which  their  technical 
knowledge  is  susceptible.  In  our  })ractical  Avork  we 
have  to  deal  with  phenomena  and  modify  them  ;  and 
here  the  instruments  of  our  power  can  only  be  found  ii? 
right  aj)prehension  of  the  laws  of  plienomcna.  Tlicol- 
ogy  and  metaphysics  do  not  profess  to  teach  us  tlicse  ; 
but  to  go  behind  them,  and  enable  us  to  think  truly  of 
their  ground  and  source  ;  supposing  this  promise  real- 
ized, it  can  evidently  give  us  no  new  arts,  no  rules  by 
which  cither  to  predict  or  to  conmiand  any  particidar 
succession  of  external  facts.  But  the  inHuence  upon 
our  tone  of  sentiment  and  affection,  upon  the  interpre- 
tation we  put  on  lif(;  and  nature,  on  the  admirations  we 
feel  and  the  ideal  we  follow,  is  profound  and  powerful, 


32  cojite's  life  and  rniuosoi'iir. 

although  indefinite.  It  is  always  difficult,  indeed,  to 
fetch  out  this  [)o\ver  into  actual  life,  and  give  it  con- 
crete application  ;  to  bridge  over  the  interval  between 
our  faith  respecting  real  being  and  oiu*  manipulation 
■with  transient  phenomena ;  to  incorporate  a  8j)iritual 
religion  into  a  working  church  :  and  of  this  confessed 
difficulty  Comte  avails  himself  to  persuade  us  that  the 
"  positive  sciences  "  contain  the  only  practical  order  of 
human  ideas.  But  the  same  argument  would  equally 
discredit  all  our  ideas  of  beauty,  harmony,  and  sub- 
limity ;  whose  expression  is,  in  like  manner  and  from 
like  causes,  difficult  to  create  into  palpable  forms,  and 
■when  so  created,  is  equally  inoperative  in  the  [)redictiou 
and  command  of  phenomena.  If  the  merchant  does 
not  keep  his  books  by  his  theology,  neither  does  the 
artist  bake  his  bread  by  his  aesthetics ;  and  in  either 
case  the  reproach  of  inefficiency  is  equally  idle. 

But  Comte  not  only  restricts  the  intellect  to  phe- 
nomena, he  restricts  the  word  "  phenomena "  to  the 
changes  perceptible  by  sense.  They  must  be  external 
to  us,  presented  to  material  observation,  in  order  to 
become  "facts"  at  all.  Successions  oi'  feeling^  idea, 
and  will,  known  to  us  by  consciousness,  .are  to  be 
thrown  out  of  the  account,  and  furnish  nothing  upon 
■which  intelligence  can  work.  Psychologrj,  accord- 
ingly, resting  as  it  does  upon  self -observation,  is  a 
mere  illusion  ;  and  logic  and  ethics,  so  far  as  they  build 
on  it  as  their  foundation,  are  altogether  bas(!less.  This 
repudiation  of  all  reflective  knowledge  is  due  chiefly  to 
Comte's  acceptance  of  phrenology,  —  a  system  which 
has  always  taken  an  infatuated  pleasure  in  knocking  out 
its  own  brains,  by  denying  ab  initio  the  validity  of 


comte's  life  and  philosophy.  33 

that  self-knowledge  on  wliich  all  its  own  evidence 
directly  or  indirectly  depends.  The  arguments  on 
which  Conite  relies  in  his  criticism  on  the  psychologists 
are  the  stock  objections  of  Gall  and  Spurzhcim  and 
Combe,  viz.  that  the  mind  observing  and  the  mind 
observed  being  the  same,  the  alleged  fact  must  be  gone 
and  out  of  reach  before  it  is  looked  at ;  that  a  mental 
state  is  not  a  whole  fact,  but  only  a  part  or  function  of 
a  fjict,  being  as  much  a  mere  outcoming  of  some  cere- 
bnd  state  as  the  feeling-  of  indisrestion  is  the  sensational 
side  of  deranged  action  in  the  stomach ;  and  that  psy- 
chologists haA'C  never  found  any  thing  out,  or  reaped 
any  scientific  fruit.  The  inadequacy  of  this  argxmient 
has  been  felt  and  acknowledged  by  J.  P.  ]Mill,  whose 
superior  knowledge  of  psychological  literature,  and  dis- 
ciplined habits  of  reflection,  enabled  him  to  appreciate 
far  better  than  the  French  mcta[)iiyslcian  the  real  value 
of  this  class  of  pursuits. 

It  is  necessary  to  protest  in  limine  against  the  repre- 
sentation which  Conite  gives  of  the  "  psychological 
melhod."  lie  places  it  in  false  contrast  with  a  mode 
of  procedure  against  which  it  has  nothing  at  all  to 
object,  and  which  its  votaries  have,  in  fact,  been  the 
chief  agents  in  advaficing.  Availing  himself  of  De 
Blainville's  remark,  that  the  phenomena  of  every  living 
being  may  be  regax'ded  either  statically,  i.  e.  with  ref- 
erence to  the  conditions  essential  to  their  occurrence, 
or  dynamicalbj ,  i.  c.  with  reference  to  the  })roducts  in 
which  they  embody  themselves,  he  lays  it  down  that 
the  mental  functions  must  be  studied  under  one  of  these 
two  aspects  :  we  nmst  either  engage  ourselves  with  the 
organs  requisite  for  iholr  manifestation,  in  which  case 


34  comte's  life  and  rniLOSorinr. 

our  work  is  purely  physiological ;  or  we  must  attend  to 
the  construction  and  course  of  scientific  theories,  and 
compare  and  analyze  the  ways  of  thinking  by  which 
the  human  mind  has  Jictually  won  its  knowledge  and 
achieved  its  progress,  —  and  in  this  case  our  task  re- 
solves itself  into  a  critique  on  the  intellectual  history  of 
mankind.  To  these  two  processes  he  opposes  the  psy- 
chological, which,  he  says,  pretends  to  discover  the 
fiuulamental  laws  of  the  human  mind  by  contemplating 
it  in  itself,  / .  e.  wholly  apart  from  either  causes  or 
efftcts.  The  rivalry  thus  set  up  on  behalf  of  the  phys- 
iologists (to  take  their  case  first)  every  scientific  psy- 
chologist will  entirely  disown.  He  does  not  in  the  least 
object  to  the  most  searching  investigation  of  the  organic 
conditions  under  which  the  several  orders  of  mental 
]>henomena  arise  :  he  only  maintains  that,  besides  the 
relations  in  which  they  stand  to  their  bodily  antece- 
dents, they  also  have  certain  relations  inter  se;  that, 
as  felt  by  us,  they  are  variously  like  and  unlike,  so  as  to 
be  susceptible  of  classification,  and  present  themselves 
in  determinable  sequence  so  as  to  be  reducible  tt)  laws. 
To  effect  these  classifications,  and  ascertain  these  laws, 
is  certainly  the  primary  aim  of  the  [isychologist.  Pie 
thinks  it  possible  to  attain  it  by  comparative  self-knowl- 
edge ;  and  even  were  it  proved  that  the  whole  series  of 
phenomena  were  loose  among  themselves,  produced  not 
one  out  of  another,  but  each  se[)arately  from  its  own 
prior  organic  conditicm,  he  still  deems  it  a  legitimate 
and  useful  service  to  bring  into  order  these  derivative 
unif  >rniities  ;  for  there  is  no  reason  why  in  this  par- 
ticular instance  the  general  rule  should  fiil,  that  order 
ajuoiig   the   effects  is  a  clue  to  corresponding  order  in 


COMTE's   life   AXD   PHILOSOrHY.  35 

tlio  Ciiuse.  But  in  assuming  this  as  his  centre  of  work, 
tlie  psychologist  passes  no  slight  on  the  physiologist's 
investigations  into  the  nervous  and  cerebral  conditions 
of  sensation,  thought,  and  emotion.  He  is  well  aware 
that  the  light  of  discovered  order  radiates  forward  as 
well  as  backward,  and  that  if  uniformities  of  succession 
or  co-existence  can  be  detected  in  the  physical  condi- 
tions, they  will  become  exi)onents  of  similar  relations 
among  the  mental  facts.  lie  simply  leaves  this  indirect 
method  of  classification  to  the  physiologist,  and  him- 
self resorts  to  the  direct ;  willingly  availing  himself  of 
every  help  supplied  by  researches  into  the  vital  organ- 
ism, and  "ivini;  no  countenance  to  the  narrow-minded 
assumption  that  the  selection  of  one  order  of  relations 
for  special  attention  is  a  disparagement  of  another.  It 
is  not  to  the  discoveries,  but  to  the  fictions  of  phre- 
nologists, that  intellectual  philosophy  objects  ;  nor  can 
any  one  familiar  with  the  writings  of  Descartes  and 
Locke,  of  S[)inoza  and  Berkeley,  of  Reid,  Mill,  and 
Hamilton,  deny  its  habitual  eagerness  to  use  to  the 
utmost  the  results  placed  at  its  disposal  by  the  zeal  of 
the  anatomist.  The  antagonism,  therefore,  supposed 
by  Comte  is  all  his  own. 

It  is  equally  so  when  he  accuses  psychologists  of 
siibstitntiitf/  self-examination  for  study  of  the  real- 
i::ed  products  of  human  thought,  —  such  as  scientific 
hypothesis,  ihc  history  of  civil izilion,  and  development 
of  ideas.  Not  a  book  of  modern  psychology  can  be 
found,  not  a  dialogue  of  Plato,  not  a  treatise  of  \ris- 
totlc,  in  which  the  l!)gical  laws  of  human  reason  are 
not  continually  illustrated,  if  not  directly  deduced,  by 
reference  to  the  organism  and  method  of  the  scicuces^ 


36  comte's  life  and  riiiLosoriiY. 

and  the  recorded  procedures  of  human  thought.  The 
value  of  tlicse  historical  materials  for  deterniininfj  the 
principles  of  cognition  is  not  more  appreciated  by 
Comte  than  by  the  objects  of  his  criticism ;  the  only 
difference  is,  that  while  they  consult  individual  con- 
sciousness, in  addition  to  the  recorded  development  of 
the  race,  and  for  their  power  to  read  and  interpret  the 
monuments  of  intellectual  history  profess  themselves 
indebted  to  sympathetic  self-reflection,  he  denies  that 
we  can  know  ourselves,  yet  insists  that  we  decipher  tlie 
world.  His  position,  therefore,  is  simply  destructive ; 
and  we  have  not  the  invidious  office  of  depreciating  his 
proposed  methods,  which  are  of  admitted  value,  but 
only  of  defending  the  philosophical  competency  of  our 
own. 

"The  chief  consideration  proving  clearly  that  the 
mind's  practical  self-contemplation  is  a  pure  illusion," 
is  the  following.  AVhatever  the  mind  knows,  is  its 
object  of  knowledge  ;  every  object  of  knowledge  is 
other  than  the  knowing  subject,  therefore  what  the 
mind  knows  can  never  be  itself.  "By  an  invincible 
necessity,  the  human  mind  can  immediately  observe  all 
phenomena  except  its  own."  "  The  thinking  individual 
cannot  divide  himself  in  two  ;  let  one  reason,  while  the 
other  looks  at  the  reasoning.  The  organ  observed  and 
the  organ  observing  being  in  this  case  the  same,  how  is 
it  possible  that  observation  should  have  place  ?  " 

This  argument  curiously  reverses  a  celebrated  maxim 
of  James  Mill,  —  and,  indeed,  of  Hobbes,  —  to  the 
effect  that  to  have  a  feeling,  and  to  knoio  that  you 
have  ity  are  identical.  Comte  tells  us  that  to  have  a 
feeling,  and  to  know  that  you  have  it,  are  incompati- 


cojite's  life  axd  philosophy.  37 

hic.  e.g.  L  fall  into  a  frozen  pond;  I  know  the  wafer 
and  the  ice,  but  I  cannot  possibly  know  that  I  am 
cold.  Or,  I  go  a  sea-voyage  under  bilious  conditions ; 
I  observe  the  swaying  water  and  the  lurching  ship  ;  but 
"  an  invincible  necessity "  conceals  from  me  the  fact 
tliat  I  am  sick.  Of  the  two  things  mven  in  the  act  of 
perception,  viz.  the  percipient  consciousness  and  the 
perceived  object,  it  has  usually  been  supposed  possible 
to  doubt  the  second,  but  not  the  first ;  the  very  doubt 
itself  bringing,  as  another  state  of  the  conscious  self, 
its  own  refutation.  And  accordingly,  though  we  have 
numerous  forms  of  idealism  which  construe  all  outwai'd 
phenomena  into  mere  a{)pearances  within  the  mind,  we 
have  hitherto  had  no  strictly  corresponding  materialism, 
cancelling  from  our  knowledge  all  mental  states  on  the 
ground  of  their  being  ours,  and  claiming  certainty  for 
the  outer  w;)rld  precisehj  because  it  is  foreign  to  us. 
This,  however,  is  the  strange  position  taken  up  by 
Comte.  The  argument  by  which  he  supports  it  is  a 
mere  apj)eal  to  the  mystery  which  belongs  to  all  cogni- 
tion, whether  of  external  or  internal  facts.  How  is  it 
possible,  he  asks,  that  we  should  know  our  own  state, 
since  we  must  cease  our  mental  activity  in  order  to 
observe  it?  In  other  words,  reflection  upon  our  inner 
experience  must  follow  npon  that  experience  itself, 
and  be  separated  from  it  by  a  certain  interval  of  time. 
Be  it  so  ;  why  is  this  more  inconceivable  than  the  per- 
ception of  an  outward  fact  whicii  stands  off  from  me 
by  a  certain  interval  of  space?  If  our  intelligence  can 
bridge  the  chasm  of  local  separation,  what  hinders  it 
from  uniting  the  termini  of  succession?  What  is  mem~ 
ory,   if   the  ^yresent   self  can    never   know  any  thing 


BS  comte's  life  and  piiilosopiiy. 

about  the  past  self?  Its  distinction  is,  that  it  reports 
to  us,  not  simply  outward  things  in  themselves,  but 
outward  things  (or  inward)  as  they  affect  us;  so  that 
—  it  has  even  been  contended  —  tiiere  is  properly  no 
memory  but  of  our  own  former  states.  If  now  its  re- 
ports are  ffood  for  nothing,  there  is  an  end  of  the 
matter,  and  human  acquaintance  with  the  past  is  an 
illusion.  But  if  they  be  accepted  as  valid,  the  knowl- 
edge which  they  supply  is  either  immediate  or  mediate. 
Is  it  immediate?  Then  are  we  immediately  cognitive 
of  our  own  past  states,  in  spite  of  Comte's  maxim.  Is 
it  mediate?  Then  do  we,  as  now  remembering,  know 
something  p.ast,  as  having  then  perceived  it ;  the  truth 
in  my  present  remembrance  is  just  what  there  was  in 
my  former  perception  ;  and  without  immediate  cogni- 
tion of  my  own  state  at  the  percipient  moment,  no 
mediate  knowledge  of  it  could  be  given  by  memory. 
In  fact,  the  act  of  perception  is  necessarily  and  equally 
an  act  of  self-consciousness,  objective  no  more  than 
subjective  ;  and  to  claim  for  it  authority  for  phenomena 
without,  is  in  itself  to  concede  to  it  like  authority  for 
j)henomenon  within  ;  nothing  being  an  outward  phe- 
nomenon at  all  except  vdiat  .appears  on  the  double  field 
of  thouyht  and  thi)it/s,  and  in  knovrn  as  being  and  as 
felL 

And  if  we  be  incapable  of  knowing  our  own  experi- 
ences and  thoughts,  we  cannot  perform  on  them  any 
act  of  comparison,  separation,  or  combination.  Yet 
what  is  human  language  but  the  crystallized  form  of 
countless  discriminations  and  analogies,  so  clearly  felt, 
and  frequently  referred  to,  as  to  demand  the  means  of 
permanent  expression  ?     Comte   refers  us  to  scientific 


COMTe'S    life   and   PHILOSOrilY.  39 

theories  and  logical  processes  as  tlic  only  possible  means 
of*  reachinfj  loijical  laws.  But  how  could  these  intel- 
lectual  methods  speak  to  us  intelligibly  at  all,  were  it 
not  for  the  parallel  movement  of  our  own  thought, 
carried  into  the  study  as  interpreter  and  test?  To 
beings  not  self-conscious,  or  not  able  to  rely  on  their 
reflective  insigiit  into  their  own  ways  of  intellectual 
action,  the  record  of  other  men's  reasonings  could 
awaken  no  responsive  intelligence ;  only  through  our 
sympathetic  self-knowledge  do  they  find  lis  out  and 
teach  us  any  thing.  All  grammar,  all  philology,  all 
scientific  language,  are  in  fact  'psychological  deposits; 
not  less  certainly  testifying  to  the  perpetual  action  of 
self-reflection,  as  one  factor  of  human  knowledge,  than 
the  geological  strata  bear  witness  to  the  operation 
through  ages  past  of  the  very  elements  that  work  upon 
our  homesteads  and  on  the  beach  at  our  earden-ffate 
to-day.  Comte's  advice  is  excellent,  if  addressed  to 
those  who  can  open  their  vision  upon  their  own  nature 
and  intelligence  ;  but  has  no  sense  or  application  for 
the  sort  of  blind  chimera  or  one-eyed  cyclops  that  he 
imagines,  with  pictures  of  the  iniiverse  glazed  upon  the 
surface,  and  never  taken  home  to  any  known  self 
within.  No  doubt  our  self-hnowlcdge  is  dependent  to 
an  incalculable  extent  on  the  living  in  a  human  world, 
and  standing  befoi-e  tho  face  of  other  men :  the  mani- 
festations of  their  nature,  whether  bv  natural  laniruaire 
of  the  moment  or  by  the  historical  record  of  past  pro- 
cesses of  thought,  are  conditions  necessary  to  the  de- 
velopment of  our  reflective  faculties  :  and  if  we  were 
to  insist  on  insidating  the  seli-consciousncss  from  all 
these  data,  that  it  might  s]^-in  a  science  out  of  its  own 


40  COMTE'S   life  and   PHILOSOrHY. 

viscera,  we  should  but  impose  upon  an  empty  power  9 
self-consuming  task.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  our 
ability  to  decipher  tlie  expression  of  other  minds  de- 
pends, in  its  turn,  on  converse  with  our  own  ;  and  to 
bid  us  study  the  fruits  of  their  research  and  meditation, 
while  despairing  of  all  acquaintance  with  our  own,  is 
to  place  a  bancpiet  befoi'C  the  sleeping  or  the  dead.  It 
is  impossible  to  make  either  of  the  recii)rocal  condi- 
tions prior  to  the  other ;  their  efficacy  lies  in  the  balance 
and  alternation  of  action  and  re-action  ;  and  so  close  is 
the  intcr-dependence  of  j)sychological  and  objective 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  that  a  theory  which  de- 
spises either  excludes  both. 

The  objection,  however,  which  Comtc  is  most  zealous 
in  urging  against  the  psychologists  is,  that  their  method 
has  never  been  crowned  with  any  success,  great  or 
small,  and  that  their  labor  has  been  absolutely  barren. 
Even  if  this  statement  be  tried  by  the  test  present  to 
the  author's  own  mind,  viz.  tiie  amount  of  direct  dis- 
covery res[)ecting  the  processes  of  the  mind,  it  is  a 
monstrous  exaggeration.  The  logical  doctrine  of  Aris- 
totle, the  modern  theory  of  vision,  the  .ascertainment  of 
laws  of  association  and  abstraction,  liutler's  exposition 
of  the  moral  constitution  of  man, — deserve  to  be 
ranked  among  positive  achievements  of  a  high  order, 
and  are  recognized  as  such  by  the  vast  majority  of  com- 
petent judges  on  these  points.  If  perfect  unanimity  is 
not  attained  even  on  tiiese  doctrines,  neither  is  it  secured 
at  present  in  regard  to  any  of  the  corresponding  parts 
of  biological  science  ;  and  the  only  advantage  which 
the  positivist  has  over  his  [)redeccssors  in  intellectual 
philosophy  is  in  his  liberal  promises  for  the  future ;  his 


comte's  life  and  philosophy.  41 

disparagement  of  the  past  not  being  justifiet!,  so  far  aa 
yet  appears,  by  the  detection  of  a  single  hiw  of  our 
mental  or  moral  nature.  These  reproaches  of  back- 
wardness should  at  least  be  reserved  till  they  can  be 
uttered  from  a  point  of  real  advance.  Perhaps,  too, 
the  test  by  which  the  fruitfulness  or  sterility  of  a  pur- 
suit is  estimated  by  Comte  may  not  be  altogether  ad- 
missible. His  demand  obviously  is  for  some  new  field 
of  "  prevision "  special  to  psychology:  the  demand  is 
disappointed,  because  intrinsically  unreasonable.  From 
objective  studies  we  expect  objective  results  ;  from  sub- 
jective studies  it  is  natural  to  look  for  subjective  re- 
sults :  not  so  much  for  a  fresh  sphere  broucjht  into 
hnoxoledge,  as  for  a  more  refined  knoiclnfj  power,  for 
quickened  faculties  self-protected  from  beguiling  errors, 
for  intellectual  implements  of  more  ethereal  temper  and 
disciplined  skill.  That  this  a[)propriate  effect  of  re- 
flective studies  has  been  their  habitual  attendant,  is 
undeniable  ;  every  period  of  intense  speculative  activity 
being  the  precursor  of  the  next  advance  of  even  physi- 
cal science,  and  educating  the  faculties  up  to  the  point 
when  the  discovery  of  new  laws  becomes  possible  ;  set- 
ting the  previous  gains  of  human  research  in  due  order 
and  relation,  and  preparing  language  and  method  for 
new  service.  Alternately  acting  and  studying  its  action, 
the  mind,  whether  by  systole  or  diastole,  sustains  the 
pulsation  of  its  living  thought ;  and  to  demand  the  one 
operation  without  the  other,  is  not  less  absurd  than  to 
complain  that  the  heart  does  not  always  propel  without 
resilience.  Nor  is  it  only  in  the  successive  periods  of 
human  culture  that  this  need  of  reflective  studies  is 
observable.     No  fact  is  more  conspicuous  in  individual 


42  comte's  life  and  rniLOSOPHY. 

biography  and  the  comparative  experiences  of  educa- 
tion, than  tlic  sjsteniatio  superiority,  in  pliancy  and 
balance  of  faculty,  of  men  not  strange  to  metaphysical 
and  moral  studies,  over  those  who  never  quit  the  circle 
of  mathematical  relatit)n8  and  physical  laws.  Were 
the  methods  of  intellectual  and  moral  philosophy  alto- 
gether illusory,  it  is  inconceivable  that  a  certain  habit- 
uation to  them  should  be  an  indispensable  gymnastic 
for  the  mind,  and  a  needful  check  to  the  narrowing 
tendency  of  the  "positive  sciences,"  when  exclusively 
pursued.* 

Closely  connected  with  Comtc's  contempt  for  the  psy- 

*  In  spite  of  Conite's  contempt  for  psychology,  lie  is  one  of  the  nu<r.t 
resolute  of  jm'chologists  himself;  and  freely  appeals,  when  convenient,  to 
that  very  self-c-oiisi-iousness  which  at  other  times  he  declares  to  be  quite 
blank  and  dumb.  Thus  we  find  him  announcing  that  the  "  phenomena  of 
life"  are  "Awwn  bij  immeduiie  conscimisntfs'"  {Phil.  J'os.  vol.  ii.  p.  04!^,  vol. 
iii.  p.  8);  an  assertion  standing  in  accurate  contradiction  to  the  doctrine  on 
■which  we  have  been  commenting.  Nay,  so  completely  does  he  forget  his 
dciiial  of  any  possible  selt-knowledge,  as  to  affirm,  when  required  for  his  pur- 
pose, that  "  man  at  Jirst  knotcg  notliinr/  but  Jiimself," —  so  as  to  apply  his  self- 
knowledge  as  a  universal  formula  for  the  interpretation  of  nnture.  But  how 
could  man  erect  his  self-consciousness  into  a  rule  for  explaining  all  phe- 
nomena, if  no  inward  fact  were  cognizable  by  him  at  all?  Perhaps,  how- 
ever, it  is  only  since  monotheism  came  in,  that  psychology  has  become 
impossible  and  absurd;  for,  while  denyinj;  it  to  modern  metaphysicians, 
Comte  is  full  of  admiration  of  its  use  among  the  ancient  augurs.  He  claims 
for  polytheism  the  honor  of  in.stituting  the  first  careful  ob.servation  of  nature; 
laments  that  we  have  to  put  up  with  our  poor  meteorological  registers  in 
j)lace  of  the  far  superior  weather-tables  of  the  Ktru.scan  soothsayers;  and 
aflinns  that,  with  a  view  to  the  interjiretation  of  dreams,  the  intellectual 
and  moral  phenomena  were  made  the  subject  of  the  m(>st  delicate  observa- 
tions, i)ursued  day  by  day  with  a  perseverance  not  to  b(  again  expc>ctcd  till 
the  positive  pliilosojihy  has  reached  its  final  development  {Phil.  Pos.  vol.  v 
p.  1-35).  It  is  40  be  presumed  that,  as  dreams  are  altogether  inward  liictsi, 
this  mars'ellous  store  of  scicntilie  observation  accumulated  in  their  service, 
and  throwing  light  on  the  intellectual  and  moral  life,  could  be  no  other  than 
^)syc/wloi/ical  aij/itdl.  How  is  it  that  it  n)ay  be  invested  in  Divination ;  but 
must  be  inaccessible  to  Science,  at  least  until  rositivism  finds  a  prof.tabla 
use  for  itV 


comte's  life  and  philosophy.  43 

shologists  is  his  disrespect  for  certain  ideas  and  beliefs 
whose  only  guarantee  is  in  our  self-consciousness. 
Thus  he  treats  as  an  illusion  our  idea  of  Oausation ; 
requiring  us  to  dispense  with  it  altogether,  not  merely 
in  its  theological  form  of  Will,  but  no  less  in  its  scien- 
tific equivalent  of  Force.  "  Every  proposition,"  he 
says,  "  which  is  not  ultimately  reducible  to  the  simple 
enunciation  of  a  fact,  particular  or  general,  must  be 
destitute  of  all  real  and  intellio^ible  meanins:."  Ajjain  : 
^^  Forces,  in  mechanics,  are  only  movements,  produced 
or  tending  to  be  produced ;  but  although  this  is  happily 
pretty  well  understood  now-a-days,  yet  an  essential  form 
is  still  required,  if  not  in  the  conception,  at  least  in  the 
habitual  lanf;ua<2:e,  in  order  to  cancel  altoi^ether  the  old 
metaphysical  notion  ol  force,  and  present  more  accu- 
rately than  hitherto  the  true  point  of  view."  And  he 
shows  the  same  jealousy  of  any  properly  dynamical 
notions  when  complaining  afterwards  of  Bichat's  specu- 
lation respecting  "  vital  ybrces,"  and  proposing  to  return 
to  the  true  path  by  substituting  the  word  "  properties  " 
for  "forces"!  His  definition  of  the  word  " Laiv,"  as 
an  "invariable  relation  of  succession  or  resemblance 
among  phenomena,"  together  with  his  severe  restriction 
of  the  human  mind  to  the  investigation  of  "Laws," 
demands  of  us  an  entire  disuse  of  all  belief  or  even 
idea  of  Causality. 

Now  if  he  had  been  content  with  saying  that  causes 
He  beyond  the  field  of  observation,  and  that  scientific 
induction,  even  in  its  highest  generalizations,  can  never 
carry  us  further  than  the  order  of  co-existence  and 
sequence  among  phenomena,  he  would  have  stated  only 
an   important  truth, — the   one  great   truth  on  whose 


44  comte's  life  and  niiLOSoruY. 

clear  apprehension  depends  the  whole  difference  be- 
tween ancient  and  modern  investigation  of  nature.  All 
knowledge  which  finds  its  test  and  triumph  in  accurate 
prevision^  or,  more  generally,  in  the  determination  of 
absent  facts  by  means  of  present  data,  does  require 
ex«;lusively  an  attentive  study  of  the  relations  of  events 
in  time  and  place.  Though  we  were  endowed  with  no 
other  power  than  the  ability  to  register,  compare,  and 
analyze  series,  without  any  susjjicion  of  a  })ur[)ose,  or 
wonder  about  origination,  we  should  want  nothing  (ex- 
cept, indeed,  an  indispensable  moral  incentive)  to  com- 
j)lete  the  conditions  of  scientific  discovery.  It  stands 
to  reason,  indeed,  that,  in  order  to  foresee,  we  need 
only  to  know  the  sequences  to  which  events,  beginning 
from  the  present,  are  limited  ;  and  that,  in  order  to  fill- 
in  the  absent  half  of  a  cluster  of  phenomena  by  sug- 
gestion from  what  is  at  hand,  we  have  but  to  learn 
the  groupings  in  which  they  uniformly  occur.  And  the 
rule,  thus  rational  in  its  j)rinciple,  is  confirmed  by  the 
actual  history  of  natural  knowledge.  No  scrutiny,  it 
is  true,  ever  succeeds  in  laying  hold  of  a  neio  force, 
and  fixing  it  in  its  distinction  before  our  view  :  all 
that  can  be  done  is  to  detect  some  unsusj)ected  effects, 
which  are  but  a  fresh  disposition  or  succession  of  phe- 
nomena ;  and  behind  that  veil  no  astuteness  can  carry 
us.  We  are  apt  to  be  deceived  on  this  point  by  the 
habitual  employment,  in  scientific  treatises,  of  names 
for  reputed  forces  of  different  kinds,  —  chemical,  elec- 
tric, magnetic,  vital,  &c.  We  naturally  suppose  tliat 
the  votary  of  each  department  of  research  hns  some- 
thing to  tell  us  of  the  force  prevailing  there,  and  of  the 
characters  wliich  distinijuish  it  from  its  dynamic  aeiu'h- 


comte's  life  and  philosophy.  45 

bors.  On  closer  inspection,  however,  we  sliall  find 
that  of  the  force  itself,  apart  from  what  it  does,  he  has 
nothing  special  to  say  :  he  defines  it  by  tlie  cqrpear^ 
ances  it  puts  forth  ;  he  separates  it  from  other  forces 
by  stating  the  dissimilar  effects  which  tliey  severally 
exhibit ;  nor  has  he  any  other  means  of  referring  to  the 
ranks  of  Swufteig  than  by  marshalling  the  perceptible 
phenomena  mider  their  appropriate  heads.  The  name 
"  magnetism  "  stands  for  the  viewless  cause  of  all  those 
movements  in  certain  metals  (iron,  cobalt,  nickel) 
which  occur  in  the  vicinity  of  particular  ferruginous 
ores,  or  of  iron  brought  into  similar  conditions  :  the 
movements  may  be  induced  under  considerable  variety 
of  prior  conditions,  through  which  it  would  be  impos- 
sible for  us  to  trace  any  identity  of  originating  power ; 
and  the  assumption  of  unity  rests  entirely  on  the  ter- 
mination of  all  these  conditions  in  one  result,  viz.  the 
polar  disposition  or  deflection  of  the  needle.  It  is  the 
specialty  of  the  phenomenon  that  is  honored  with  the  hy- 
pothesis of  a  special  force.  Heat,  again,  is  the  name 
of  an  equally  unknown  cause  of  certain  phenomena,  — 
such  as  a  given  animal  sensation,  and  the  expansion  of 
bodies,  and  their  change  from  solid  to  liquid  and  liquid 
into  gaseous,  —  which  are  entered  under  this  category 
for  no  other  reason  than  that  they  cling  together,  and 
though  not  alike  in  themselves  or  a])preciable  through 
the  same  sense,  arise  under  the  same  physical  condi- 
tions. The  concurrence  of  these  effects  having  tied 
them  into  a  group,  the  rise  of  any  one  of  them  becomes 
a  sign  of  the  possibility  of  the  rest,  or  of  the  j^rcsence 
of  the  supposed  cause  :  but  of  that  cause,  per  se,  as 
apart   from  its  effects,  —  of  its  unity,  except  in  thcii 


46  COMTE'S   life   and   PniLOSOPIIT. 

concurrence;  of  its  difference  from  magnetism,  except 
in  the  iiniikeness  and  separation  of  the  effects, — we 
liave  assiireilly  no  cognizance.  Tiuis  much,  then,  must 
be  freely  granted  to  Comte,  —  that  all  investigation 
into  natural  forces  is  delusive,  unless  understood  to  be 
meve  phenomenological  research,  prosecuted  under  the 
di'Sguise  of  dynamical  language  ;  and  that  its  only  real 
result  must  be  to  ascertain  the  analogies  and  the  order 
of  perce[)tible  facts.  If  this  be  true,  we  must  materi- 
ally alter  our  ordinary  conce[)tions  of  the  operations  of 
nature.  We  must  no  longer  attribute  any  reality  or 
efficient  existence  to  gravitation,  electricity,  cohesion, 
&c.  ;  but,  treating  them  as  mere  fictions  of  thought 
subservient  to  classification,  must  resolve  the  universe, 
lender  the  eye  of  science.,  into  a  legion  of  phenomena, 
irregular  to  begin  with,  but  susceptible  of  being  regi- 
mented and  disciplined  by  due  attention  to  their  like- 
ness and  affinities.  If  our  lano^uaije  is  to  be  regulated 
exclusively  by  the  resources  of  the  natural  sciences, 
and  notiiing  to  be  admitted  into  it  but  what  they  can 
undertake  to  guarantee,  nothing  short  of  a  clean  sweep 
of  every  dynamical  form  of  phnise  can  satisfy  the  obli- 
gations of  truth.  And  yet  this  is  manifestly  impossi- 
ble ;    and  has  been  found  so  by  Comte  himself. 

How  are  we  to  reduce  this  apparent  inconsistency? 
Inductive  science  gives  us  no  access  to  causes  behind 
phenomena ;  yet  we  cannot  ex[)ound  it  without  speak- 
ing of  them,  and  assuming  them.  Is  fiction,  then,  the 
indispensable  vehicle  of  truth  ?  And  must  a  false  pos- 
tulate underlie  the  whole  fabric  of  our  knowledge?  So 
would  it  assuredly  be,  if  every  idea  were  to  be  dis- 
carded as  invalid  for  which  inductive  science  declines  to 


COMTE'S   life    A^'D   PHILOSOPHY.  47 

be  responsible.  But  when  wc  have  confessed  tliat,  by 
the  way  of  perception,  and  in  the  study  of  hiws,  caui^a- 
lion  cannot  be  reached,  it  by  no  means  follows  that  the 
idea  is  to  be  expelled  the  service  of  the  human  mind. 
The  question  arises,  whether,  as  it  evades  us  at  the  end 
of  science,  it  may  not,  perhaps,  be  found  at  the 
hug  inning :  the  spectacle-case  may  well  be  empty,  if 
the  glasses  are  already  on  the  nose,  helping  us  all  the 
while  to  see  the  very  em[)tiness  itself.  W  the  idea  of 
causality  be  a  metaj)hysical  datum,  it  is  no  wonder  that 
we  miss  it  as  a  physical  qua;situm ;  nor  is  it  diiiicult  to 
understand  why  it  presents  no  variety  to  our  mind, 
however  various  be  the  phenomena  behind  which  it  is 
planted,  or  the  corresponding  changes  of  name  it  may 
assume.  By  an  irresistible  law  of  thought,  all  'phe- 
nomena present  l/ieniselves  to  us  as  the  expression 
of  poiver,  and  refer  us  to  a  causal  ground  whence  they 
issue.  This  dynamic  source  we  neither  see,  nor  hear, 
nor  feel;  it  is  given  in  thought  —  supplied  by  the 
spontaneous  activity  of  the  mind  itself  as  the  correl- 
ative prefix  to  the  phenomenon  observed.  By  tiie 
general  acknowledgment  of  philosophers,  this  idea  is  so 
strictly  "  a  necessary  idea  "  as  to  be  entirely  irremovable 
from  the  conception  of  any  change  ;  to  cut  the  tie  be- 
tween them,  and  think  of  phenomena  as  not  effects,  is 
iuipossible,  in  fact,  even  to  the  very  writers  wlio  pro- 
j)0!>e  it  in  theory. 

AVhat  value,  then,  are  we  to  put  upon  this  belief? 
Either  we  must  take  it  as  a  natural  revelation,  or  reject 
it  as  a  natural  lie;  in  the  case  of  an  original  datum  of 
thought  contradictory  to  no  other,  a  third  course  is 
impossible.      If  we  are  to  rely  on  the  veracity  of  our 


48  comte's  life  and  piiiLosoniY. 

constitution  as  tliinklng  beings,  Ave  must  accept  the 
subjective  postulate  as  giving  a  valid  rule  for  objective 
natiu-e.  It*  we  are  to  suppose  our  intellectual  consti- 
tution mendacious,  and  deem  causation  a  mental  fiction, 
no  reason  will  remain  for  trusting  our  perceptive  con- 
stitution any  more  ;  and  our  observation  of  facts  and 
quest  of  laws  will  perish  by  tlie  contagion  of  uncer- 
tainty. It  is  imj)ossible,  except  by  arbitrary  caprice, 
to  save  tiie  one  part  of  our  cogniti\e  nature  while 
saci'iticing  the  other,  and  vain  to  pretend  that  the  depo- 
sitions of  the  first  are  in  any  sense  o[)poscd  to  those  of 
the  otiicr.  That  the  "power"  given  to  us  in  thonyht 
is  apprehensible  by  no  perception,  avails  as  little  to 
dis})rove  its  reality  as  the  inaudibleness  of  light  to 
convict  the  eye  of  false  reports.  Yet  this  is  the  only 
argument  by  which  Comte  justifies  his  contempt  for 
causes.  AVe  freely  surrender  to  him  all  search  by 
scientific  methods  after  a  plurdlift/  of  forces  distin- 
guishable in  themselves  :  but  he  confounds  this  illusory 
aim  with  the  recognition,  on  the  autliority  of  a  law  of 
thought,  of  universal  causation,  inserted  by  the  mind, 
without  any  change  of  type,  behind  all  sets  of  phe- 
nomena in  turn.  Start  up  what  may  to  arrest  our 
attention,  one  and  the  same  h:)mogeneous  idea  of 
power  occurs  to  us  ;  and  whether  it  receives  the  name 
of  chemical,  or  ])hysical,  or  vital,  the  dynamical  back- 
ground of  the  conce[)tion  remains  unvaried,  and  the 
momentary  representation  alone  is  exposed  to  change. 
The  trustworthiness  of  this  belief  has  the  same  guarantee 
as  tlie  self-evident  predicates  of  space  and  time  :  it  is 
the  indispensable  condition  of  our  thinking  of  phenom- 
ena at  all ;   they  are  just  as  absolutely  luipresentable  to 


comte's  life  and  philosophy.  49 

the  mind  apart  from  causalitj,  as  motion  without  du^'a- 
lion  and  extension.  Indeed,  it  is  remarkable  how  thcf^e 
two  great  data,  Space  and  Time,  rescue  us  from  th3 
scepticism  of  the  materialist  school.  They  stand  as 
eternal  barriers  to  forbid  our  final  exit  from  the  natural 
faiths  of  reason  ;  or  as  a  bridge  that  spans  the  gulf  be- 
tween metaphysical  and  physical  apprehension,  and  has 
a  bearing  upon  each  ;  so  that,  destroy  which  you  will, 
the  whole  roadway  of  human  knowledge  falls,  and 
neither  of  the  intcrdej)cndent  realms  remains  accessible 
or  habitable  at  all.  Will  you  take  your  stand  on  the 
entities  of  Reason  alone?  Then,  as  Comte  truly  says, 
your  knowledge  will  never  advance  a  step  ;  you  will 
find  no  law,  and  win  no  prevision.  Will  you  try  the 
other  side,  and  say  that  Perception  of  phenomena  is 
the  only  source  of  knowledge?  Then  you  must  throw 
away  from  your  belief  both  space  and  time,  which,  as 
eternal,  are  not  phenomena,  and  as  infinite,  you  cannot 
have  perceived  ;  and  with  them  nuist  perish  all  that 
they  contain,  so  that  your  solid  realism  goes  off  into 
absolute  Nihilism.  W^ill  you  attempt  a  compromise, 
and  let  natural  faith  have  its  way  unrpieslioned  respect- 
ing these  two  necessary  receptacles  of  phenomena? 
Then  the  postulates  of  thougiit,  by  no  means  stopping 
there,  are  not  only  good  for  these,  but  good  fi)r  more  ; 
and  causality  slips  in  by  the  plea  that  n)akes  room  for 
Law. 

Final  causation,  not  less  than  efficient,  our  author 
imu'juies  to  be  contradicted  and  disproved  by  "  posi- 
tive "  knowledge  ;  and  he  is  fond  of  turning  aside  from 
his  exposition  to  mark  the  points  where  science  ap- 
pears   to    exclude    the    notion   of   providential    design. 

4 


50  COMTE'S   lite   i^ND   PHILOSOPHY. 

Thus  astronomical  discovery,  in  his  opinion,  completely 
overthrows  tlic  doctrine  of  divine  purpose  in  the  ar- 
ranfrenients  of  the  solar  system:  1.  Because  design, 
"whenever  alleged,  is  conceived  of*  as  relative  to  man, 
whose  nature  gives  the  onlv  measui'C  we  have  of  good 
and  evil ;  and  though  he  might  plausibly  be  supposed 
the  object  of  divine  care  so  long  as  his  station  was 
assumed  to  be  central,  the  idea  must  vanish  with  the 
disclosure  of  the  earth's  dependent  and  planetary  posi- 
tion. 2.  Because  it  is  demonstrated  that  the  order  and 
stability  of  the  solar  system,  and  the  fitness  of  its  sev- 
eral bodies  for  the  residence  of  living  being?,  are 
necessary  consequences  of  purely  mechanical  laws. 
3.  Because  in  many  respects  the  system  might  be 
greatly  improved,  and  by  no  means  deserves  the  .admi- 
ration wasted  on  it.*  This  last  argument  we  may  leave 
to  those  who  feel  themselves  able  to  pronounce  on  the 
relative  raeiits  of  possible  universes,  as  compared  with 
one  another  and  with  the  actual.  The  belief  in  design 
is  by  no  means  pledged  to  the  doctrine  of  -optimism. 
The  readiness  with  which  every  theist  admits  the  exist- 
ence of  evil,  tiie  frequency  with  which  he  speaks  of 
imperfections  in  life  and  nature,  and  his  habitual  refer- 
ence to  a  future  and  ideal  world,  show  that  his  faith 
can  co-exist,  without  prejudice,  with  the  conception  of 
more  "  advantageous  conditions  "  of  being  than  he  wit- 

•  "With  persons  unused  to  the  study  of  tlie  celestial  bodies,  thouf^li  very 
likely  well  informed  on  other  i)arts  of  natural  philosophy,  astmnoiny  has  still 
the  repute  of  being  a  science  eminently  relij^ious;  as  if  the  fanuius  words. 
'The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God,'  iiad  lost  nothing  of  tiieir  truth."  In  a 
note  Conite  adds,  "  Now-a-days,  to  minds  familiarized  betiujes  with  the  tru(- 
astrononiical  philosopliy,  tlie  heavens  declare  no  otiier  glory  than  that  cf 
tii\>parchus,  Kepler,  Newton,  and  all  tiiose  who  have  contributed  to  the 
a;;cerlaimneut  of  their  laws."  —  Philttujthie  Positive,  vol.  ii.  p.  3G. 


comte's  life  and  philosophy.  51 

nesses  where  lie  is.  For  ourselves,  we  confess  Comte'a 
censorship  over  the  universe  affects  us  very  much  in  the 
same  way  as  many  religious  writers'  patronage  of  it. 
Jliey  undertake  to  show  how  much  better,  he  how 
much  worse,  it  is  than  it  might  have  been.  If  this  sort 
of  argument  is  open  to  t!ie  one,  it  cannot  be  closed 
against  the  other ;  and  we  may  leave  them  to  settle  it 
between  them  as  best  they  may.  Whether  the  stomach 
is  made  on  the  best  principles  ;  whether  the  sea  is  not  a 
little  too  salt;  Avhether  the  isthmus  of  Panama  is  not  lo 
be  regretted  ;  whether  the  ice  may  not  be  rather  o^■erdone 
about  the  poles  ;  whether,  if  M.  Lesseps  had  been  con- 
sulted, the  shortcomings  of  the  Red  Sea  might  not  ha\e 
been  avoided ;  whether  the  two  sides  of  the  moon  are 
fairly  treated  ;  whether  Jupiter  is  all  right  without  a 
ring,  or  Venus  would  be  improved  by  diminution  of 
light  and  levity,  —  are  matters  for  those  who  know 
every  thing  and  a  good  deal  more.  Such  questions  are 
as  a  flood  let  loose,  and  spreading  without  use  and  with- 
out bound,  covering  the  landmarks  of  all  fruit-bearing 
truth  and  turning  thou<>ht  into  a  desolating  waste. 
i\Iend  the  world  as  you  will,  there  must  always  remain 
ideal  standards,  measured  by  which  it  will  be  liable  to 
criticism  as  before.  The  body  of  man,  for  instance,  is 
variously  frail,  and  can  scarcely  stand,  without  fractin-e, 
a  ten-feet  fall ;  but  give  him  cast-iron  ribs,  and  a  rail- 
way accident  will  contrive  to  crush  him  ;  and  the  more 
you  harden  him,  the  greater  the  forces  into  which  he 
will  venture.  In  short,  the  critique  of  nature  in  detail 
is  quite  beyond  us  ;  and  whether  we  find  tliere  little 
providences  or  nu)nstrous  blemishes,  we  arc  alike  in 
danger  of  seeing  only  the  reflection  of  our  own  egotism. 


52  comte's  life  and  philosophy. 

Praising  or  censuring  the  arrangements  of  the  worM, 
wc  equally  set  u|»  certain  ideal  ends  of  our  own  imagin- 
ing, which  we  assiune  that  it  was  or  ought  to  serve ;  by 
the  test  of  these  we  try  nature,  and,  according  as  her 
structure  realizes  or  falls  short  of  them,  we  pronounce 
it  perfect  or  imperfect.  Comte  and  the  divines  are 
therefore  both  within  the  same  school  of  teleological 
criticism  ;  both  speak  of  a  good  or  a  bad  way  of  real- 
izing a  prcsupi)o.«ed  conception  ;  both  are  equally  far 
from  confining  themselves  to  the  study  of  actual  j)he- 
nomena  and  effects,  uncompared  with  others  that  might 
have  been.  Forming  as  we  do  part  of  the  scheme  of 
nature,  limited  as  our  power  of  conception  is  to  the 
resources  of  the  universe  that  bounds  the  horizon  of  our 
minds,  we  cannot  pretend  to  be  judges  of  the  skill  or 
clumsiness  of  the  world's  laws ;  and  the  moment  we 
jmss  beyond  the  simple  admiring  perception  of  order 
and  relation,  and  begin  to  imagine  how  much  better  or 
worse  matters  would  have  stood  under  other  conditions, 
we    entano-le    ourselves   in    a  thicket  of   ever-jrrowing 

O  Oct 

problems,  from  which  extrication  is  impossible.  The 
faith  in  divine  purpose  will  ])crsevere  through  all ;  but 
the  critique  of  that  purpose  in  special  instances  is  vari- 
able and  insecure,  and  was  properly  excluded  by  Bacon 
from  the  business  of  science. 

Thus  the  particular  thought  from  which  the  creation 
of  the  world  has  been  supposed  to  spring,  viz.  to  be  the 
moral  centre  of  the  universe,  and  the  scene  of  a  drama 
fixing  the  gaze  of  all  higher  beings,  does  really,  as 
Comte's  first  argument  remarks,  lose  its  hold  of  proba- 
bility by  the  Copernican  discovery.  The  plurality  of 
worlds,  be  they  inhabited  or  uninhabited,  is  fatally  at 


comte's  life  and  philosophy.  53 

variance  with  the  scheme  of  moral  symmetry  tliat 
makes  man  the  hero  of  all  time  and  nature.  But  to 
discredit  this  particular  idea  is  one  thing ;  to  disprove 
the  presence  of  design  altogether  is  another.  The  ten- 
dency of  the  Copernican  discovery,  is  quite  in  the 
opposite  direction,  to  give  enlargement,  instead  of  cur- 
tailment and  extinction,  to  the  significance  and  purpose 
of  the  world.  The  old  theor-y  of  the  divines  proving 
too  small  to  suit  the  magnificence  of  the  facts ;  its 
chief  object,  man,  finding  himself  in  presence  of  a 
scene  so  unexpectedly  august,  —  which  is  the  more 
natural  inference,  that  therefore  this  scene  must  have  a 
greater  cause  than  we  had  conceived,  or  that  it  can 
have  none  (it  all  ?  And  so  perhaps  it  will  ever  be. 
In  one  instance  after  another  ad  infinitum.,  it  will  be 
found  that  tiie  idea  we  had  planted  at  the  heart  of  a 
thing  is  too  small,  and  is  transcended  by  the  scale  of 
the  reality.  To  make  this  the  excuse  for  substituting  a 
smaller  or  a  blank,  is  perversely  to  justify  a  logical 
retrogression  by  a  scientific  advance,  and  to  say  tliat, 
the  more  glorious  the  creation,  the  less  thought  must  it 
contain.  No  less  a  paradox  than  this  is  Comte's  rea- 
scming  that,  because  a  particular  idea  of  tlie  divine 
intention  gives  way,  Final  Causation  in  general  is 
exploded. 

The  only  considerable  argument  in  the  passage  on 
Avhicix  we  are  remarking  is  the  second,  —  that  the 
physical  forces  and  arrangements  being  known,  to 
which  the  order  and  stability  of  the  solar  system  is 
due,  the  phenomena  are  exhaustively  ex[)lained  with- 
out any  intervention  of  purpose  at  all.  Now  what  id 
the  nature,  and  wherein  lies  the  plausibility,  of  this  rea- 


54  comte's  life  and  philosophy. 

soiling?  It  is  simply  a  [)layin<T-ofF  o^ physical  causation 
against  moral,  or,  as  it  is  called,  final  causation  ;  tlio 
forces  of  matter  are  adequate  to  produce  all  the  move- 
ments and  all  the  equilibriiun,  and  so  no  force  of  mind  is 
■wanted.  But  have  we  not  just  learned  from  Comte 
that  Avc  know  nothing  of  any  forces  of  rnatter,  nothing 
of  any  production  of  one  phenomenon  from  any  other, 
or  from  causation  at  all?  that  our  investigations  and 
discoveries  arc  absolutely  debarred  from  passing  beyond 
the  grouping  and  succession  of  j)hcn<)mena?  Then 
what  does  he  mean  by  here  finding  in  physical  causes  a 
substitute  and  equivalent  for  the  volitional  action  which 
lie  excludes?  They  cannot  shut  out  and  supersede  that 
action,  unless  they  are  competent  to  do  the  same  thing; 
if  they  claim  to  stand  in  its  place,  they  must  undertake 
to  discharge  the  required  office  instend  of  it.  Either, 
therefore,  gravitation  must  be  equal  to  the  task  hitherto 
given  to  the  Divine  Will,  i.e.  must  be  a  real  efficient 
force,  and  not  a  mere  generalized  phenomenon  ;  or  else 
it  cannot  make  good  its  rival  pretensions,  or  enter  at 
all  upon  the  field  which  is  at  jircsent  occii[)ied  by  final 
causes  sinqjly  on  the  mci'it  of  this  qualification.  In 
other  words,  our  author  may  take  his  choice  of  two 
positions  :  he  may  limit  the  possible  achievements  of 
our  minds  to  the  ascertainment  of  laws,  and  say  that 
causal  iiroblems  are  inaccessible ;  or,  admitting  causal 
problems,  he  may  pronounce  one  solution  true  and 
another  false,  declaring  e.ff.  in  favor  of  physical  forces 
as  against  spiritual  agency.  But  he  cannot  do  both, 
and  slip  about  from  the  one  to  the  other  at  will ;  he  can- 
not fight  a  particular  causal  hypothesis  with  a  mere  law 
of  phenomena  which  is  not  causal,  and  say  in  the  same 


comte's  life  and  niiLOSoriiY.  55 

breath  that  we  can  know  nothing  of  this  matter,  and 
.also  that  we  know  the  matter  to  be  not  so-and-so,  but 
otherwise  than  that.  Cause  against  cause,  law  against 
law  ;  but  no  cross-fire  is  possible  ;  and,  slam  the  heavy 
gate  of  gravitation  as  you  may  in  the  face  of  Living 
Agency,  still  if  its  bars  are  only  ranges  of  co-existence 
and  succession,  and  its  chevaux-de-frise  only  bristling 
clusters  of  phenomena,  causation  will  slip  through  and 
round  and  over,  and  feel  no  obstruction  to  be  there. 

As  to  the  choice  which  Comte  practically  makes  be- 
tween the  two  positions  just  described,  there  can  be  no 
doubt.  He  assuredly  thinks  of  nature,  not  simply  as 
the  theatre  of  phenomena,  but  as  the  residence  o^  forces. 
In  what  sense  can  he  affirm  that  periodicity  of  planetary 
perturbation,  and  the  consequent  equilibrium  of  the  solar 
system  and  its  orbitary  movements,  are  necessary  con- 
sequences of  (jravitation,  if  he  does  not  conceive  of 
aravitation  as  a  cause  ?  From  the  two  great  conditions 
of  every  Newtonian  solution,  viz.  projectile  impulse 
and  centripetal  tendency,  eject  the  idea  o^  force,  and 
what  remains?  The  entire  conception  is  simply  made 
up  of  this,  and  has  no  sort  of  faintest  existence  without 
it.  It  is  useless  to  give  it  notice  to  quit,  and  pretend 
that  it  is  gone,  when  you  have  put  a  new  name  upon 
the  door.  We  must  not  call  it  "attraction,"  lest  there 
should  seem  to  be  a  poiver  within  :  we  are  to  speak 
of  it  as  "gravitation,"  because  that  is  only  "weight," 
which  is  nothing  but  a  "  fact ;  "  as  if  it  were  not  a  fact 
that  held  a  j)ower,  a  true  d}nan)ic  affair,  wiuch  no 
imagination  can  chop  u[)  into  incoherent  siicccssii)n:e 
Nor  is  the  evasion  more  successful  when  we  try  the 
phrase    ^'  tendency   of  bodies   to    nmtaul    (ipproach.^^ 


56  comte's  life  and  riiiLosoruY. 

The  approach  itself  may  be  called  a  phcnoraenon  ;  but 
the  "tendency"  is  no  phenomenon,  and  cannot  be 
attributed  by  us  to  the  bodies  without  regarding  them 
as  the  residence  of  force.  And  what  are  we  to  say  to 
the  projectile  impulse  in  t!ie  case  of  the  planets?  Js 
that  also  a  phenomenon?  Who  witnessed  and  reported 
it?  Is  it  not  evident  that  this  whole  scheme  of  physical 
astronomy  is  a  resolution  of  observed  facts  into  dynamic 
equivalents,  and  that  the  hypothesis  posits  for  its  calcu- 
lations, not  phenomena,  but  proper  forces?  Its  logic 
is  this  :  ij"  an  impulse  of  certain  intensity  were  given, 
and  if  such  and  such  a  nuitual  attraction  were  con- 
stantly present,  then  the  sort  of  motions  which  we 
observe  in  the  bodies  of  our  system  wotdd  follow.  So, 
however,  they  also  would  if  willed  by  an  Omnipotent 
Intelligence.  Both  doctrines  ai'e  so  far  hypothetical ; 
both  hypotheses  are  dynamic ;  both  are  an  adequate 
provision  for  the  facts ;  so  that  on  this  ground  neither 
can  exclude  the  other.  There  is,  however,  this  difier- 
ence :  we  know  that  the  doctrine  of  composition  of 
forces  is  an  artificial  device,  by  Avhich,  in  innunieral>le 
cases,  we  treat  «*•  if  j)lufal  a  spring  of  motion  which, 
like  our  own  volition  to  a  given  nuiscular  action,  is 
really  simple;  the  qttasi-plurcditij  being  a  contri- 
vance for  bringing  the  phenomenon  under  dominion  to 
the  calculus,  and  finding  its  equivalent.  If  it  be 
maintained  that  the  phenomenon  is  really  compoaitCy 
antagonist  muscles  and  numerous  levers  being  set  in 
motion,  we  reply,  that  the  complexity  is  at  all  event? 
in  the  mode  of  execution,  not  in  the  princii)le  of  origi- 
nation, which,  being  our  own  conscious  volition,  we 
know  has  none  of  those  parts,  but  goes  straight  at  the 


comte's  life  axd  niiLOSornr.  57 

resultant.  It  appears,  therefore,  that  tlie  conipositi 
doctrine  betrays  its  fictitious  character  where  the  voli- 
tional origination  is  an  indisputable  fact ;  and  that,  even 
allowing  it  in  such  case  to  represent  reality,  it  is  a  mere 
executive  reality,  wielded  as  an  instrumental  medium 
by  the  immediate  power  of  Will  behind.  In  the  same 
manner,  the  liypothetical  composition  of  the  Newtonian 
forces  does  nothing  to  exclude  the  primary  causation  of 
a  Divine  Mind. 

In  this  connection  it  is  curious  to  notice,  in  so  acute 
a  mind  as  our  autlior's,  the  logical  inconsequence  pro- 
duced by  incompatible  antipathies.  He  commits  tiie 
inconsistency,  —  which  would  be  extraordinary  were  it 
not  ordinary  with  his  class,  —  of  excluding  all  Will 
from  the  universe  because  there  is  nothing  but  Neces- 
sity, yet  insisting  on  Necessity  as  an  attribute  of  all 
AVill.  It  is  evident  that  whicliever  of  these  two  posi- 
tions is  establislicd  destroys  tlie  other  ;  yet  it  is  scarcely 
possible  for  the  atheist  to  avoid  holding  both.  "  Look 
at  this  whole  frame  of  things,"  he  says,  "  how  can  it 
proceed  from  a  mind,  —  a  supernatural  will?  Is  it  not 
all  subject  to  regular  laws,  and  do  we  not  actually 
obtain  lirevision  of  its  phenomena?  If  it  were  the 
product  of  mind,  its  order  would  be  variable  and  free." 
Of  mind,  therefore,  it  is  a  mark,  that  its  phenomena 
are  unsusceptible  of  prevision  ;  of  volition  it  is  charac- 
teristic to  be  free  ;  and  tlie  absence  of  these  attributes 
negatives  the  presence  of  voluntary  agency.  Here, 
then,  the  atheistic  argument  itself  not  only  concedes 
liberty  to  will  as  possible,  but  reasons  from  it  as  the 
one  essential.  Yet  no  sooner  do  these  writers  begin  to 
treat  of  the  only  will  which  we  direoliy  know,  v:^.  ont 


58  comte's  life  and  philosophy. 

own,  than  they  contend  for  the  contmdictory  of  all 
this  :  aftirnihiu"  that  the  will  has  no  freedom  whatever : 
that  it  follows  determinate  and  ascertainable  laws  ;  that 
its  products  are  not  variable  or  irreducible  to  rides  of 
prevision  ;  and  that  if  we  cannot  yet  foresee  them,  the 
fault  is  not  in  the  indetei'minatcness  of  the  facts,  but  in 
the  imperfect  conquests  of  our  knowled.!;e.  From  this 
it-  would  seem  that  necessity  and  determinateness  of 
sequence,  being  not  less  predicable  of  will  than  of  other 
orders  of  facts,  may  as  well  be  a  sign  of  it  as  of  any 
thing  else,  and  cannot  at  all  be  taken  to  disprove  it. 
Either,  then,  the  will  is  free,  or  else  theism  is  un- 
harmed ;  and  the  attack  on  either  of  these  propositions 
eaves  the  other.  The  fact  is,  the  atheistic  reasoning  is 
an  involuntary  testimony  to  the  inextinguishable  faith 
in  the  freedom  of  the  will,  —  a  testimony  the  more 
impressive  because  unconsciously  given  by  a  hostile 
witness.  When  the  problem  practically  comes  before 
him,  how  to  get  rid  of  siij)er natural  volition  from  the 
universe,  he  can  find  but  one  mode,  viz.  to  get  rid  of 
every  trace  oi  freedom,  and  enthrone  everywhere  natu- 
ral necessity.  In  this  he  follows  a  perfectly  correct 
logical  instinct ;  he  tries  the  issue  u[)on  the  antithesis 
of  two  notions  that  are  truly  contradictory!  But  if  they 
are  nmtually  exclusive  in  the  universe,  so  are  they  in 
man  ;  and  it  is  the  secret  consciousness  of  this  that 
suggests  and  sustains  the  whole  argument.  When, 
after  this  radical  acknowledgment,  Comte  condescends 
to  the  assertion  that  any  man  who  fancies  himself  free, 
may  imdeceive  himself  by  standing  on  his  head  for  a 
few  miiuites,  and  trying  what  becomes  of  his  clearest 
thoughts  and  strongest  resolves,  we  cauuot  fail  to  see 


comte's  life  and  philosophy.  59 

how  mucli  deeper  is  his  invohmtary  wisdom  than  his 
superficial  polemic.  As  well  rniglit  you  urge  it  as  s 
disproof  of  free-will,  that  you  cannot  put  the  moon  in 
your  pocket,  or  contrive  to  live  five  hundred  years,  or 
write  an  epic  in  your  sleep.  Be  the  limitations  of  our 
power  prescribed  by  nature,  or  self-imposed,  or  a  mix- 
ture of  the  two,  no  one  ever  denied  or  questioned  them  ; 
no  one  ever  contended  for  a  freedom  in  man  unfettered 
by  organic  conditions.  To  do  so  would  be  to  pro- 
nounce him  onmipotent  and  absolute.  In  trutli,  free 
causality  is  so  far  from  requiring  the  absence  of  all 
limiting  conditions,  that  it  cannot  be  conceived  of  except 
as  in  their  presence.  Its  activity  is  in  its  very  essence 
preferential,  —  the  adoption  of  this  to  the  exclusion 
of  that;  and  to  empty  out  all  data,  to  cancel  the  finite 
terms,  is  to  destroy  the  problem  and  preclude  the 
power.  All  mental  action  is  intrinsically  relative,  and 
when  predicated  as  absolute  becomes  entirely  incon- 
ceivable. It  is  therefore  mere  triflin"-  to  ar<2;ue  asjainst 
free-will  by  pointing  out  the  dependence  of  ooral  phe- 
nomena on  organic  conditions.  These  conditions  are 
the  very  data  of  the  whole  problem  ;  they  may  exist  in 
every  variety  of  number  and  intensity  ;  by  increasing 
which  the  range  left  open  to  determination  may  be 
continually  narrowed,  till,  in  the  extreme  case,  it 
wholly  disappears,  the  qua^situm  is  among  the  data, 
nnd  the  problenj  is  self-resolved.  The  real  question 
is,  whether  this  extreme  case  is  universal. 

])ut  we  must  release  our  readers  from  an  uncon- 
scionable detention.  A^'e  should,  however,  have  been 
unfaithful  intcr[)rcters  of  our  author,  if  we  had  not 
made  them  feel  a  little  of  the  tedium  he  inflicts.     Our 


60  comte's  life  and  philosophy. 

interest  in  liim  being  chiefly  from  the  moral  side,  we 
Imve  addressed  ourselves  exclusively  to  the  dogmatic 
groundwork  of  his  system,  and  especially  to  the  as- 
sumptions by  which  he  discredits  psyclio logical  science, 
appends  ethics  to  biology,  and  dismisses  religion  into 
limbo.  It  is  in  this,  his  Prima  Philosophia,  that  we 
find  it  necessary  to  contest  every  step.  When,  advanc- 
ing from  this  abstract  ground,  he  begins  to  construct 
his  hierarchy  of  the  sciences,  we  acknowledge  for  the 
first  time  the  true  style  of  a  master-hand.  Two  things 
only  provoke  remark  in  this  part  of  his  work  :  (1)  The 
principle  of  arrangement  by  which  he  gives  order  to 
the  sciences,  advancing  from  the  more  universal  prop- 
erties to  the  moi'e  special,  is  by  no  means  original ;  and 
in  the  hands  of  Dr.  Arnott  had  already,  in  1827,  been 
emj3loyed  to  raise  in  outline  precisely  the  symmetricjd 
pyramid  of  knowledge  which  Comte  contemplates  with 
so  Uiuch  pride.  Our  author's  additional  rule,  that 
with  this  logical  order  the  historical  growth  of  the 
sciences  agrees,  will  not,  in  our  opinion,  bear  exami- 
nation. (2)  This  linear  arrangement  of  the  sciences, 
all  around  the  same  axis,  appears  to  us  absolutely 
untrue,  both  to  their  inner  logic  and  their  outward 
history.  We  deny  that  the  knowledge  of  human  nature 
and  life  waits  for  an  antecedent  biology,  chemistry, 
physics,  and  astronomy,  or  uses  their  conclusions,  when 
obtained,  as  its  presuppositions.  We  maintain  the  es- 
sential independence  of  its  evidence  and  method,  and 
the  possibility,  nay  even  necessity,  of  its  beginning 
at  the  same  moment,  and  advancing  pari  passu,  with 
our  apprehension  of  the  outward  world.  We  a^Jsert 
that  the  sciences  dispose  themselves  round  two  great 


cosite's  life  and  philosophy.  61 

axes  of  tliouglit,  parallel  and  not  unrelated,  yet  dis- 
tinct ;  —  the  natural  sciences  held  together  by  the  one, 
the  moral  by  the  other.  In  practice  our  author  himself 
proceeds  as  if  it  were  so  ;  and  in  his  review  of  political 
and  social  doctrine,  leaves  his  physiology  and  chemistry 
entirely  behind.  His  notices  of  both  groups  of  sci- 
ences, taken  separately,  abound  with  original  criticisms 
and  striking  generalizations  ;  but  it  is  especially  in  the 
sphere  of  physical  knowledge  that  his  habits  of  thought 
render  him  an  instructive  and  suggestive  guide. 

As  for  his  celebrated  threefold  law,  we  will  only 
l)oInt  to  the  distorting  effect  it  has  had  on  his  great 
historical  survey.  In  obedience  to  its  cruel  exactions, 
the  natural  organism  of  European  civilization  has  been 
torn  to  pieces.  As  the  third,  or  positive  stage,  had 
accomplished  its  advent  in  the  author's  own  person,  it 
was  necessary  to  find  the  metaphysical  period  just 
before;  and  so  the  whole  life  of  the  Reformed  Ciu-is- 
tianity,  in  embryo  and  in  manifest  existence,  is  strip])ed 
of  its  garb  o^  fdltli,  and  turned  out  to  view  as  a  naked 
metaphysical  phenomenon.  But  metaphysics,  again, 
have  to  be  ushered  in  by  theology  ;  and  of  the  three 
stages  of  theology  Monotheism  is  the  last,  —  necessarily 
following  on  Polytheism,  as  that,  again,  on  Fetichism. 
There  is  nothing  for  it,  therefore,  but  to  let  the  me- 
discval  Catholic  Christianity  stand  as  the  world's  first 
monotheism,  and  to  treat  it  as  the  legitimate  offspring 
and  necessary  development  of  the  Greek  and  Ivoman 
polytheism.  This  accordingly  Comte  actually  does. 
Protestantism  he  illegitimates  and  outlaws  from  religion 
altogether ;  and  the  genuine  Christianity  he  fathers 
upon  the  faith  of  Homer  and  the  Scipios  !     Once  or 


62  comte's  life  and  philosophy. 

twice,  indeed,  it  seems  to  cross  liiin  that  there  was  such 
a  people  as  the  Hebrews,  and  that  they  were  not  the 
polytheists  they  ought  to  have  been.  He  sees  the  fact, 
but  pushes  it  out  of  his  way  witli  the  reniai-k,  that  the 
Jewish  monotheism  was  "  premature  "  !  Tiie  Jews 
were  always  a  disobliging  people  :  what  business  had 
they  to  be  up  so  early  in  the  morning,  disturbing  the 
house  ever  so  long  before  M.  Comte's  bell  rang  to 
prayers  ? 

It  is  unfortunate  that  Comte,  like  many  men  at  once 
capable  and  vain,  rests  his  chief  pretensions  on  precisely 
what  is  weakest,  least  original,  and  most  misleading, 
in  his  modes  of  thought :  whilst  he  drops  unconsciously, 
and  leaves  unmarked,  his  strongest  and  most  fertile 
reflections.  The  consequence  necessarily  is,  that  his 
first  reputation,  conferred  by  disciples  in  answer  to 
liis  own  demand,  will  have  to  shift  its  ground ;  that  a 
prior  polemic  must  prc[)are  the  way  for  ultimate  appre- 
ciation ;  and  that  before  he  can  be  wisely  heard,  the 
louder  half  of  him  must  be  forg-ot. 


63 


JOHN    STUART    MILL* 


Botanical  students,  more  tliau  thirty  years  ago,  turn- 
ing over  the  leaves  of  the  English  Flora,  encountered 
the  frequent  name  of  J.  S.  Mill,  as  an  authority  for  the 
habitat  or  the  varieties  of  flowers.  Before  tlie  earliest 
of  these  papers  was  written,  the  author,  stripling  as  he 
must  then  have  been,  was  already  known  to  distin- 
guished men  as  a  faithful  observer  of  nature.  A  holi- 
day walk  through  the  lanes  and  orchards  of  Kent, 
which  woidd  have  yielded  to  most  youths  a  week's  frolic 
and  a  bag  of  apples,  filled  his  tin  box  with  the  materials 
of  a  naturalist's  reputation.  Nothing  short  of  the  same 
method  of  severe  earnestness,  cai-ried  tlu'ough  tiie  whole 
intellectual  training,  and  interpolating  nothing  between 
the  child  and  the  man,  can  well  have  formed  the  most 
elaborated  mind  of  our  age,  and  presented  it  almost 
complete  at  its  first  appearance.  These  volumes,  in- 
deed, bring  to  our  recollection  many  an  essay  Avhich, 
though  not  thought  worthy  to  be  included  in  their  con- 
tents, would  bear  biografjliical  testimony  to  the  early 
richness  and  variety  of  the  author's  attainments.      Nor 

*  Disjjcrtatioiis  and  Disi-ussii)ns,  Political,  riiilo.<!0|)liiial,  and  Ilislorical; 
reprinted  fliictly  (Voni  the  l-"(liiiliiirj;li  and  Wfsiniin.stoi-  Ituvicws.  liy  Johu 
Stuart  Mill.     In  2  vols.    J.  W.  Tarkur.     Ibu9, 

Naliuiiul  Kevicw,  l66i). 


64  JOHN   STUART   MILL. 

was  he  thrown  into  tliis  wide  and  hetei'of»;eneous  culture 
without  an  organizing  clue.  In  the  analytical  psychol- 
ogy of  the  elder  Mill  he  inherited  an  instrument  of 
great  power  for  the  logical  reduction  and  systematic 
grasp  of  all  knowledge  :  and  his  belief  in  it  and  mastery 
over  it  were  complete.  Limit  as  we  may  tlie  pretensions 
of  the  Hartleyan  doctrine,  it  affords  an  incomparable 
discipline  for  the  first  stage  of  philosophical  reflection  ; 
and,  from  the  fascination  which  it  invariably  exercises 
over  young  intellects,  its  discipline  is  unsparingly  and 
spontaneously  applied.  Its  first  principles  easily  pass 
unchallenged  in  the  sensational  years  of  life,  ere  the 
finer  and  deeper  shades  of  inward  consciousness  have 
emerged.  Its  chemistry  of  ideas  actually  ex[)lains  so 
many  marvellous  transfonnations,  and  seems  [)!>tentially 
competent  to  so  nuich  more,  that  we  readily  go  into 
captivity  to  it  at  an  age  when  ingenuity  of  process  is 
more  im[)ressive  to  us  than  truth  and  precision  of  result. 
It  has  often  exercised  a  profound  influence  over  minds 
that,  at  a  later  stage,  have  been  determined  to  violent 
re-action  against  it :  as  in  the  case  of  Coleridge,  who 
named  his  first  son  after  Hartley,  and  slept  with  the 
Observations  on  Man  imder  his  pillow.  And  of  all 
the  writers  of  this  school,  the  most  enchaining  and  irrc- 
sistiblc  is  James  ^lill,  whose  Analysis  of  the  Phenom- 
ena of  the  Ilumat^  Mind  has  always  appeared  to  us  a 
masterpiece  of  close  and  subtle  exposition,  to  be  dis- 
sented from,  if  you  please,  in  its  assumptions  and  con- 
clusions, but  rarely  to  be  broken  in  the  midst.  Did  the 
facts  of  consciousness  stand  as  he  represents  them,  his 
method  woidd  work.  He  satisfactorily  explains  —  the 
wrong  human  nature.    The  mental  gymnastic,  huw  ever, 


JOHN    STUART    MILL.  65 

involved  In  the  study  of  such  a  work  is  invigoratiii2;. 
and  gives  command  over  a  kind  of  psychological  calcuhu 
to  which  innumerable  problems  yield.  Furnished  with 
this,  our  author  tried  its  application  over  the  widened 
field  of  his  own  generation  and  the  richer  resources  of 
his  own  nature  :  and  we  are  recalled  to  his  first  tenta- 
tives  in  the  present  republication. 

The  cold  ri<>or  of  the  elder  Mill  concealed  from  the 
world  the  extent  of  his  literary  knowledge;  and  when, 
now  and  then,  he  suppoi'ted  his  political  doctrines  from 
the  Ilei)ubiic  of  Plato,  or  dropped  a  tributary  phrase 
to  the  genius  of  that  philosopher,  people  attributed  it  to 
some  freak  of  pedantry,  and  almost  disputed  the  right 
of  a  "Benthamite"  to  such  an  imcongenial  admiration. 
AVhat  was  begrudged  to  the  father  was  freely  conceded 
to  the  son,  whose  susceptibilities  were  believed  to  have 
an  ampler  range,  who  was  known  to  have  scholarship  as 
well  as  science,  and  whose  Platonic  studies  told  not  on 
his  dialectic  only,  but  on  his  style.  He  encountered, 
and  to  his  true  honor  he  vanquished,  tiie  greatest  trial 
that  can  meet  the  young  philoso[)her  at  the  outset  of 
liis  career,  viz.  the  extravagant  expectations  and  loud- 
whispered  praises  of  an  intellectual  cotei'ie,  accustouiod 
to  abuse  and  confident  of  triumph.  Elderly  proj)hets 
who  had  been  stoned  in  their  day  fixed  their  eyes  upon 
him  as  a  sort  of  Utilitarian  Messiah,  who  would  take 
away  the  reproach  of  the  school.  Could  he  not  grace- 
fully discuss  poetry  with  the  poet,  and  :irt  with  the  art- 
ist? Had  he  not  nn  n[)[)reciative  insight  into  the  earlier 
philosophies,  which  Penthjim  could  only  laugh  at  aud 
caricature?  Was  he  not  surel}'  destined,  by  his  Iiigh 
sympathies  with  heroic  forms  of  character,  to  give  tho 

6 


66  JOHN   STUART   MILL. 

liereditfD'y  (L)Ctiinc  a  nobler  intcrprctiition,  find  rescue 
it  from  the  ignorant  imputation  of  selfishness?  That  a 
young  writer,  in  whose  hearing  these  things  were  con- 
tiimally  saitl  or  imi)lie(l,  should  disaj)point  no  prediction 
contained  in  them,  is  a  rare  evidence  of  moral  as  well 
as  intellectual  strength.  The  narrowness  and  j)erversi- 
ties  which  had  brought  the  Utilitarian  lladicals  into  dis- 
repute, never,  from  the  first,  appeared  in  him.  There 
was  even,  we  should  say,  a  conscious  revolt  from  them, 
an  over-anxious  care  to  avoid  them,  and  a  deliberate  set 
of  the  will  to  apprehend  the  opposite  point  of  view,  and 
feel  whatever  truth  and  beauty  lay  aiound  it.  It  was 
from  some  feeling  of  this  kind,  and  especially  from  a 
determination  to  disown  the  Bowring  tyj)e  of  l*entham- 
ism,  that  tl^  London  Itcview  arose  in  1835,  under 
the  guarantee  of  our  author's  intellect  and  Sir  William 
Molesworth's  purse  ;  and  the  re\  iew  of  Professor  Sedg- 
wick's Discourse  with  which  it  opened,  though  unspar- 
ing—  not  to  say  arrogant  —  as  a  manifesto  against  the 
rhetorical  ethics  of  the  Cambridge  geologist,  n)akes  not 
a  few  concessions  on  the  other  side  ;  it  cheerfully  sur- 
renders Paley,  and  cautiously  guards  its  defence  of 
Locke ;  and  shows  a  sensitiveness  equally  alive  to  the 
nonsense  of  opponents  and  the  shortcomings  of  friends. 
So  strongly  are  the  papers  of  the  next  four  or  five  years 
marked  by  the  api)arent  resolution  to  escape  from  party 
one-sidedness,  that  they  have  almost  an  eclectic  chanic- 
ter,  —  with  its  usual  accompaniment,  an  actual, overbal- 
ance of  candor  in  favor  of  rejected  schemes  of  thought. 
The  masterly  article  on  Bentham  certainly  occasioned 
not  a  little  flutter  of  displeasure  aujong  his  thorough- 
going admirers,  while  the  corresponding  paper  on  Cole- 


JOHN    STUART   MILL.  67 

ridge  was  welcomecT  by  his  disciples  as  a  conciliatory 
and  generous  advance.  Both  of  them,  it  is  true,  were 
written  for  the  benefit  of  the  author's  own  party :  and 
the  former  therefore  naturally  became  a  criticism,  cor 
rective  of  what  was  amiss  at  home ;  the  latter  an  expo- 
sition, reporting  what  truth  might  be  fetched  in  from 
abroad  :  and  the  balance  cannot  be  expected  to  hang  as 
even  as  if  he  had  been  teaching  each  party  how  to  take 
the  measure  of  its  own  hero.  Still  it  is  evident  that  he 
rose  from  the  study  of  Coleridge's  writings  with  an  ad- 
miration powerfully  moved ;  that  they  first  transferred 
him  from  an  abstract  to  an  historical  theory  of  politics  ; 
and  that,  in  exhibiting  the  speculative  outline  of  these 
writings,  he  felt  half-ashamed  of  the  radical  allies  for 
whose  instruction  he  performed  the  task.  This  school- 
ing of  himself  into  appreciation  of  a  Conservative  phi- 
losophy was  not  altogether  ac('e[>table  to  tlie  veterans  of 
his  party  ;  but  it  obtained  for  him  a  hearing  where  their 
voices  could  not  effectually  penetrate,  and  established 
literary  communication  between  lines  of  thought  pre- 
viously closed  against  each  other.  And  his  influence  as 
a  writer,  measured  in  its  intensity  and  its  kind,  was 
singularly  complete  at  once  —  none  of  his  larger  pro- 
ductions having  produced,  it  is  probable,  a  deeper  im- 
pression than  the  three  great  essays  to  which  we  have 
referred.  Tliis,  indeed,  is  no  more  than  the  tribute  due 
to  the  early  balance  and  maturity  of  his  powers.  There 
is  something  almost  preternatural  in  the  singular  even- 
ness of  these  Dissertations  and  Discussions,  —  the 
produce  of  a  quarter  of  a  century,  —  scarcely  betraying 
growtli,  because  requiring  none  ;  and  indicating  not  less 
Beverity  of  logic,  and  sharpness  of  statement,  and  au- 


68  JOHN    STUART   MUX.. 

tliority  of  manner,  in  the  first  pages  than  in  tlie  last. 
And  a  higher  qnality  than  any  of  tliese,  and  equally 
apparent  throughout,  the  more  honorably  distinguished 
our  author  because  personal  to  himself,  and  by  no  mean3 
habitual  in  his  school,  or  indeed  in  any  party  connection, 
—  we  mean  a  dcHberate  intellectual  conscientiousness, 
which,  scorning  to  take  advantage  of  accidental  weak- 
ness, will  even  help  an  opponent  to  develop  his  strength, 
that  none  but  the  real  and  decisive  issue  may  be  tried. 
That  our  author  is  always  successful  in  this  we  cannot 
indeed  profess  to  believe ;  but  we  are  convinced  he 
always  means  it,  and  never  misses  it,  unless  through 
the  involuntary  limits  of  his  mental  sympathies. 

These  limits,  however,  cannot  fail  to  assert  them 
selves,  in  spite  of  the  most  elaborate  culture.  A 
catholic  intellect  is  not  to  be  created  by  resolve ;  and, 
notwithstanding  his  wish  to  interpret  between  "  Ben- 
thamites "  and  "  Coleridgians,"  Mr.  Mill  has  still  left 
the  chasm  between  them  without  a  bridge,  and  found 
neither  wing  nor  way  for  bringing  them  together.  He 
etiected  the  exchange  of  one  or  two  political  ideas  ; 
borrowed  the  vindication  of  a  "  Clerisy,"  or  endowed 
speculative  class  ;  enlarged  tlie  radical  definition  of  the 
functions  of  the  State ;  favored,  with  St.  Simon  as  well 
as  Coleridge,  the  search  for  "  Ideas,"  as  well  as  Facts  in 
History  ;  qualified  the  austerities  of  PoHtical  Economy 
with  a  tinge  of  Socialistic  humanities  ;  and  balanced  t\? 
conception  of  Progress  with  that  of  Order.  But  these 
modifications  were  torn  from  their  connection  and  taken 
over  to  the  Bentham  side  without  their  root:  fruits,  as 
it  were,  plucked  from  the  orchard  of  the  lligligat<i 
philosopher  and  stowed  away  in  the  store-closet  of  St. 


JOHN    STUART    MILL.  69 

James's  Park,  sure  to  be  consumed  in  a  season  and  to  be 
reproductive  of  no  more.  Accordingly,  tlie  sociological 
doctrine,  whose  first  elements  were  taken  from  Cole- 
ridge, completed  itself  under  the  inspiration  of  Comte. 
We  do  not  say  that  this  interweaving  of  opposite  ingre- 
dients prejudges  the  truth'  and  unity  of  the  doctrine  ; 
but  if  the  parts  do  cohere  in  one  vital  organism,  it  can 
only  be  by  grafting  anew  :  and  one  or  other  has  left  its 
stem,  to  grow  apart  no  less  than  before.  In  fact,  it 
was  only  in  particular  results,  never  in  fundamental 
2)rinciple,  that  our  author  deemed  approximation  pos- 
sible. For  himself,  he  surrendered  no  incii  of  his  foot- 
ing on  the  old  ground  of  the  "  Experience-philosophy  " 
and  the  "Utilitarian  Ethics,"  and  only  aimed  to  enlarge 
its  imperfect  survey,  and  complete  the  edifice  which  had 
been  partially  raised  upon  it.  This  he  has  accomplished 
over  a  vast  portion  of  the  field,  and  his  labors  (with 
those  of  Mr.  Austin  in  another  department)  have  so  far, 
we  believe,  consummated  the  possibilities  of  the  system 
which  they  represent.  It  has  attained  an  unexampled 
completeness  and  refinement ;  its  subtlest  corrections 
have  been  applied ;  its  inmost  resources  have  been 
strained  ;  and  now,  more  than  ever,  it  ought  adequately 
to  meet  the  intellectual  and  moral  exigencies  of  life. 
That  it  really  covers  the  whole  breadth  of  human  want 
our  author  doubtless  believes  ;  yet  the  tone  of  his  wri- 
tings leaves  a  singular  impression  of  melancholy  and 
unrest.  He  seems  rather  to  be  making  the  best  of  the 
human  lot  as  it  is,  than  to  find  it  worthy  of  a  wise  man's 
welcome.  AVith  a  firm  hand  he  draws  the  prohibitory 
circle  which  limits  our  knowledge  to  the  field  of  ex[)e- 
Tience,   and  concentrates   a   steady  eye   on   his   survey 


70  JOHN    STUART   MILL. 

witliin  it ;  yet  not  without  glances  of  tliouglit,  —  pa- 
tljctic  in  their  very  anger,  —  towards  the  dark  horizon 
of  necessity  and  nescience  around.  Balanced  and  cour- 
teous as  he  is,  it  is  always  with  a  certain  sharpness 
and  irritation  that  he  turns  in  that  direction,  and  says, 
''Why  look  there?  there  is  nothing  to  be  seen."  And 
Ills  moral  discontent  with  the  world  is  still  more  marked 
and  more  depressing  than  the  speculative  :  his  admi- 
rations spending  themselves,  and  with  fastidious  scanti- 
ness, on  what  is  wholly  out  of  reach — on  Greek  polities, 
that  have  passed  out  of  reality,  and  on  socialistic,  that 
are  doubtfully  destined  to  arrive  at  it ;  and  his  dislikes 
increasing  as  the  objects  are  nearer  home  —  England 
being  more  stupid  than  France,  and  the  decorous  middle 
class  the  meanest  of  all.  Out  of  sympathy  with  society 
as  it  is,  and  with  languid  hopes  of  what  it  is  to  be,  our 
author  seems  to  sit  apart,  with  genial  pity  for  the  mul- 
titudes below  him,  with  disdiiin  of  whatever  is  around 
him,  and  in  silence  of  any  thing  above  him.  No  one 
would  believe  beforehand  that  a  writer  so  serene  and 
even,  not  to  say  cold,  could  affect  the  reader  with  so 
much  sadness.  You  fall  into  it,  without  knowing 
whence  it  comes.  All  the  lights  upon  his  page  are 
intellectual,  breaking  from  a  deep  reserve  of  moral 
gloom. 

The  great  mass  of  !Mr.  Mill's  labor  has  been  devoted 
to  what  may  be  termed  the  middle  ground  of  human 
thought,  below  the  primary  data  which  reason  must 
assume,  and  short  of  the  applied  scnence  which  has  prac- 
tice for  its  end.  At  the  upper  limit  shunning  the  origi- 
nal postulates  of  all  knowledge,  and  at  the  lower  its 
concrete  results,  he  has  addressed  himself  to  its  interme- 


JOHN    STUART    MILL.  71 

diary  processes,  nnd  determined  the  methods  for  woi'k- 
ino;  out  derivative  but  still  <>eueral  truths.  Does  he 
treat  of  the  investi£!:ation  of  Nature  ?  he  takes  it  up  to 
the  highest  laws  of  jihenowena,  irrespective  of  the  hy-- 
pothesis  of  an  ulterior  source.  Does  he  define  the  range 
of  Logic  ?  it  is  the  science  of  jiroof^  dealing  only  with 
the  inference  of  secondary  truths,  not  the  science  of 
belief,  which  would  include  also  the  list  of  first  truths. 
Does  he  explain  the  business  of  Ethics  ?  it  is  to  appraise 
and  classify  voluntary  actions  by  their  coaseqitences, 
not  to  scrutinize  tiiem  in  their  springs.  Tiiis  avoidance 
of  the  initial  stage,  this  banishment  of  it  into  another 
field,  is  perfectly  legitimate,  in  order  to  bring  each  in- 
quiry within  manageable  limits  ;  and  leaves  in  every 
instance  a  body  of  researches  which,  in  their  independ- 
ent prosecution,  yield  results  of  inunense  value  and 
interest.  A  ])erfectly  serviceable  logic  of  the  inductive 
sciences  may  be  cimstructed,  without  settling  the  meta- 
physics of  causation  ;  and  of  the  deductive  procedure, 
without  determining  the  original  premises  of  all  thought. 
And  a  treatise  on  morals,  whicli  should  establish  methods 
of  estimate  for  human  actions  and  dis[)ositions,  founded 
on  their  personal  and  social  tendency,  would  contribute, 
if  not  the  more  important,  at  least  the  larger  half  of  a 
complete  body  of  Ethical  doctrine.  Politicnl  Economy 
is  not  even  in  contact  with  finy  ultimate  metaphysics  at 
all,  and  can  only  be  taken  up  and  treated  as  a  mid-way 
science,  worked  (^nt,  indeed,  deductively,  as  our  author 
has  most  ably  shown,  but  or.ly  from  hypothetical  prem- 
ir^es,  special  to  itself,  and  not  pretending  to  any  un- 
qualified, much  less  a-prlori  truth.  It  lies,  therefore, 
unreservedly  within   the  grasp  of  Mr.    ^lill's   habitual 


72  JOHN    STUART    MILL. 

iiK'tlKKl ;  and  has  aocoi'diiiL^ly  been  treated  by  liim,  we 
pliould  say,  with  mastery  more  indisputable  and  com- 
plete  than   any   other  subject   which   he   has   touched. 
That  he  has  somewhat  relaxed  the  severity  of  abstract 
deduction  maintained  by  James  Mill  and  Senior ;  that 
he  has  gone  beyond  the  rigid  border  of  the  science,  and 
laid  open  to  the  eye  and  heart  some  neighboring  fields 
of  social   speculation  ;    that   in   demonstrating   natural 
laws  he  so  amply  dwells  on  the  conditions  of  their  ad- 
justment to  human  well-being,  —  may  be  complained 
of  by  closet  doctrinaires,  may  actually  render  his  book 
less  fit  for  a  student's  manual ;    but,  in  our  opinion, 
gives  a  wise  latitude  to  researches  whose  interest  will 
always  lie  chiefly  in  their  applications.     The  problems 
of  Political  Economy  are  peculiarl}-  amenable  to  an  in- 
tellect like  our  author's,  whose  characteristics  are  rather 
French  than  English  ;  —  sharp  apprehension  of  what- 
ever can  be  rounded  off  as  a  finished  whole  in  thought ; 
analytic  adroitness   in  resolving  a  web  of  tangled   ele- 
ments, and  measuring  their  value  in  the  construction  ; 
reasoning  equal  to  any  computation  by  linear  co-ordi- 
nates, though  not  rea<lily  flowing  into  the  organic  free- 
dom of  a  living  dialectic  ;   remarkabh;  skill  in  lavinjj  out 
his  subject  symmetrically  before  the  eye,  and  presenting 
its  successive  parts  in  clear  and  happy  lights.     No  one 
hjis  more  successfully  caught  the  fortunate  gift  of  the 
French    men-of-letters,  —  the    art    of  making   readers 
think  better  of  their  own  understanding  and  less  awfully 
of  the  to[)ics  discussed.     It  is  seldom  possible  to  read 
many  pages  of  a  German  philosopher  without  sus[)ect- 
ing  yourself  a  fool :  and  even  if  you  conquer  your  first 
despair,  if  you  struggle  and  climb  on,  and  make  good 


JOHN    STUART    MILL.  73 

your  footing  as  you  ascend,  you  are  desired  to  look 
down  so  many  frightful  preci})ices  and  abysses  on  either 
side,  that  the  thin  ridge  of  science  seems  but  precarious 
protection  across  the  yawning  nescience.  French  po- 
liteness takes  far  better  care  of  your  nerves,  smooths 
and  rolls  your  path  into  a  gravel-walk,  beguiles  you 
into  every  ascent  above  your  level,  plants  the  abysses 
out  of  sight  with  a  laurel  screen,  and  persuades  you 
that  you  are  at  the  top  just  Avhere  the  landscape  is 
clearest  and  3-ou  are  still  far  below  the  clouds.  This 
exclusi\e  taste  for  the  positive  and  wholly  visible,  this 
ingenuity  in  conducting  to  tlie  best  points  of  view,  and 
this  faculty  of  lucidly  exhibiting  it,  our  author  pre- 
eminently possesses  ;  and  in  the  treatment  of  Political 
Economy  these  aptitudes  are  available  with  all  their 
benefits  and  without  the  slightest  drawback. 

Logic  and  Ethics,  however,  lie  at  a  much  less  dis- 
tance from  meta})hysical  reflection  ;  and,  indeed,  can  be 
cut  away  from  it  only  by  an  artifice  of  arrangement. 
So  far  as  they  admit  of  the  separation,  and  their  body 
of  doctrine  stands  unaffected  by  the  metaphysical  as- 
sumptions which  are  left  outside,  so  far  we  think  Mr. 
Mill's  strength  as  great  here  as  elsewhere  ;  and  it  is 
great  precisely  in  proportion  as  his  iniddle  ground 
is  more  or  less  nearly  adequate.  In  Ethics  he  has 
aimed  at  no  more  than  the  rescue  of  the  "  principle  of 
utility  "  from  misapprehension  and  obloquy.  The  po.^i- 
tive  side  of  his  vindication,  legitimating  the  use  in  mor- 
als of  a  canon  of  "consequences,"  he  has  made  good. 
The  negative  side,  excluding  appeal  to  the  authority  of 
any  internal  rule,  and  resolving  conscience  into  a  reflec- 
tion of  the  accidental  sentiments  of  others,  appears  to 


74  JOIIN    STUART   MILL. 

US  entirely  to  fail.  In  Logic,  his  exposition,  considered 
as  an  organon,  an  analysis  of  method,  a  conspectus  of 
rules  for  the  interpretation  of  phenomena  and  the  dis- 
covery of  laws,  is  almost  an  exhaustive  manual  of 
procedure  for  the  present  state  of  science.  But  con- 
sidered as  a  j>hilosoj)hy ,  g'^'i'ig  the  ultimate  rationale 
of  the  intellectual  processes  it  describes,  it  leaves  us, 
we  confess,  altogether  unsatisfied.  Could  he  really 
hfive  maintained  a  metaphysical  neutrality,  —  could 
he  have  simj)ly  cut  off  and  dropped  out  of  view  the 
a-priori  top  of  logic,  the  causal  postulate  of  nature, 
and  the  inner  datum  of  morals,  —  could  he  have  carried 
out  his  work  lower  down  without  reference  to  them,  — 
our  obligation  to  him  would  have  been  scarcely  qualified. 
But  this  was  impossible.  There  are  certain  points  of 
his  field  at  which  the  omitted  topics  cannot  be  ignored  ; 
and  here,  unfortunately,  our  author's  original  silence 
is  exchanged  for  direct  denial :  we  know  no  a-priori 
truths ;  no  causation  beyond  phenomenal  conditions  ; 
no  inner  moral  rule.  Not  only  do  these  negations 
necessarily  descend  upon  our  author's  middle  ground, 
and  affect  a  portion  of  his  conclusions  in  detail,  but  they 
express  in  him,  as  they  must  in  every  man,  the  grand 
lines  in  the  whole  configuration  of  his  mind.  Some  of 
the  directions  which  they  take  we  will  attempt  to 
trace. 

First,  then,  Mr.  Mill  is  faithful  to  his  antecedents  in 
the  fundamental  question  of  all  philosophy  :  "  ^yhat  is  it 
possible  for  us  to  know?"  His  answer  is,  "We  can 
know  nothing  but  phenomena."  In  his  article  on  Cole- 
ridge, he  both  presents  the  problem  and  records  his 
reply : 


JOHN    STUAKT   MILL.  75 

"Every  consistent  scheme  of  philosophy  requires  as  its 
Btarting-point  a  theory  respecting  the  sources  of  human  knowl 
edge,  and  the  objects  which  the  human  facuUies  are  capable 
of  taking  cognizance  of.  The  prevailing  tlieory  in  the  elgli- 
teenth  century,  on  this  most  comprehensive  of  questions,  was 
that  proclaimed  by  Locke,  and  commonly  attributed  to  Aris- 
totle —  that  all  knowledge  consists  of  generalizations  from 
experience.  Of  nature,  or  any  thing  whatever  external  to 
ourselves,  we  know,  according  to  this  theoiy,  nothing,  except 
the  facts  which  present  themselves  to  our  senses,  and  such 
other  facts  as  may,  by  analogy,  be  inferred  from  these.  There 
is  no  knowledge  a  priori  ;  no  truths  cognizable  by  the  mind's 
inward  light,  and  grounded  on  intuitive  evidence.  Sensation, 
and  the  mind's  consciousness  of  its  own  acts,  are  not  only  the 
exclusive  sources,  but  the  sole  materials  of  our  knowledge. 
From  this  doctrine,  Coleridge,  with  the  German  philosophers 
since  Kant  (not  to  go  further  back),  and  most  of  the  Eng- 
lish since  Reid,  strongly  dissents.  He  claims  for  the  human 
mind  a  capacity,  witliin  certain  limits,  of  perceiving  the  nature 
and  properties  of  '  Things  in  themselves.'  He  distinguishes 
in  the  human  intellect  two  faculties,  which,  in  the  technical 
language  common  to  him  with  the  Germans,  he  calls  Under- 
standing and  Reason.  The  former  faculty  judges  of  plienom- 
ena,  or  the  appearances  of  things,  and  forms  generalizations 
from  these ;  to  the  latter  it  belongs,  by  direct  intuition,  to 
perceive  things,  and  recognize  truths,  not  cognizable  by  our 
senses.  The  perceptions  are  not  indeed  innate,  nor  could  ever 
have  been  awakened  in  us  without  experience;  but  they  are 
not  coi)ies  of  it ;  experience  is  not  their  prototype,  it  is  only 
the  occasion  by  which  they  are  irresistibly  suggested.  Tlie 
experiences  in  nature  excite  in  us,  by  an  inherent  law,  ideas 
of  those  invisible  things  which  are  the  causes  of  tlie  visible 
appearances,  and  on  whose  laws  those  appearances  depend: 
and  we  then  perceive  that  these  things  must  have  pre-existed 
to  render  the  appearances  possible ;  just  as  (to  use  a  frequent 


7C  JOHN    STL'AUT    MILL. 

illustration  of  Coleridge's)  we  see  before  we  know  that  we 
have  eyes;  but  \YhGn  once  this  is  knoAvn  to  us,  we  perceive 
that  eyes  must  have  pre-existed  to  enable  us  to  see.  Among 
the  truths  which  ai-e  thus  known  a  priori,  by  occasion  of 
experience,  but  not  themselves  tlie  subjects  of  experi(!nce, 
Coleridge  includes  the  fundamental  doctrines  of  i-eligion  and 
morals,  the  principles  of  niatlieniatics,  and  the  ultimate  laws 
even  of  physical  nature ;  wiiich  lie  contends  cannot  be  proved 
by  experience,  though  they  must  necessarily  be  consi:>leiit 
"with  it,  and  would,  if  we  knew  them  perfectly,  enable  us  to 
account  for  all  obsei'ved  facts,  and  to  predict  all  those  which 
are  as  yet  unobserved"  (vol.  i.  pp.  403-405). 

Our  author's  verdict  on  this  question  is  given  in  these 
words  : 

"  We  here  content  ourselves  with  a  bare  statement  of  our 
opinion.  It  is  that  the  truth,  on  this  much-debated  question, 
lies  with  the  school  of  Locke  and  of  Bentham.  The  nature 
and  laws  of  things  in  tiiemselves,  and  the  hidden  causes  of  tlie 
phenomena  which  are  the  objects  of  experience,  appear  to  us 
radically  inaccessible  to  the  human  faculties.  We  see  no 
ground  for  believing  that  any  thing  can  be  the  object  of  our 
knowledge  except  our  experience,  and  what  can  be  inferred 
from  our  experience  by  the  analogies  of  experience  itself; 
nor  that  there  is  any  idea,  feeling,  or  power  in  the  hiunan 
inind,  which  in  order  to  account  for  it  requires  that  its  origin 
should  be  referred  to  any  other  source.  We  are  tiieicfoi-e  at 
issue  with  Coleridge  on  the  central  idea  of  his  philosophy  " 
(vol.  i.  p.  409). 

Were  it  to  our  purpose  to  discuss  this  problem  with 
Mr.  Mill,  instead  of  simply  tracing  its  bearings  upon 
his  scheme  of  thougljt,  we  should  require  a  much  more 
precise  statement  of  it  than  we  find  in  the  foregoing 
passage,  in  which  the  association   (however  qjialified) 


JOHN    STUART    MILL.  77 

of  Locke  and  Aristotle,  as  o-ivino;  the  same  sufFraofe  in 
I'Cj'ly  to  the  same  question,  —  the  classification  of  Kant 
with  tiie  ontologists,  and  the  indiscriminntc  reference  of 
more  recent  "  German  philosophers  "  to  the  same  side, 
—  indicate,  under  the  form  of  historical  error,  no  less 
loose  a  conception  of  the  opposite  theses  than  of  the 
advocacy  arrayed  on  either  hand.  Aristotle  was  just 
as  much  a  realist  as  Plato,  though  he  made  the  realities 
accessible  to  us  by  a  different  path.  Kant  was  the  great 
iconoclast  who  discredited  all  objective  entities  as  idols 
of  the  mind  ;  and  till  the  re-action  under  Schelling,  there 
was  no  claim  of  any  knowledge  of  "  Things  in  them- 
selves." In  order  to  present  the  matter  in  a  clearer 
form,  we  must  disengage  from  each  other  two  aspects 
of  this  problem,  the  ancient,  and  the  modern  ;  the  iden- 
tification of  which  by  English  writers  is  the  source  of 
endless  confusion.  Among  the  Greek  schools,  the  ri- 
valry between  the  real  and  the  phenomenal,  between 
"Tilings  as  they  absolutely  are,"  and  Things  as  they 
relatively  appear,  was  fought  out,  not  on  the  field  of 
our  cognitive  faculties,  but  in  the  open  Kosmos.  It 
was  a  question,  not  of  knowledge,  but  of  being;  not 
logical,  referring  to  the  limits  of  thought,  but  mcta- 
jjhysiail,  concerning  the  constitution  of  existence.  In- 
stead of  shaping  itself  into  the  form,  "  Can  we  get  to 
hnow  any  entities,  or  must  we  be  content  with  phenom- 
ena?" it  asked,  "  jire  there  any  enlities  to  be  known, 
or  only  regiments  of  piienomena  ?"  In  the  view  of  one 
party,  time  and  space  comprised  nothing  but  an  eternal 
genesis  of  appcnrnnce  out  of  appearance, — wave  upon 
wave,  with  no  abiding  dee[)  below.  In  the  view  of  the 
other,  the  succession  of  phenomena  was  but  the  super- 


78  JOHN    STUART   MILL. 

fic'lal  expression,  the  momentary  and  relative  activity 
of  substantive  objects  and  permanent  potencies  behind, 
which  formed  the  constancies  of  the  universe,  and  or- 
ganically belonged  to  its  unity.  By  neither  party  was 
man  set  over  against  the  universe  to  look  at  it  across 
*-*a  interval,  as  subject  facing  object.  By  both  he  was 
.  rgarded  as  himself  a  part  and  product  of  the  Kosmos, 
oivolved  in  the  same  problem,  included  in  the  same  fate. 
I'is  constitution,  whatever  it  were,  spread  into  him  and 
.  t^appeared  there  in  miniature,  and  with  no  modification 
accept  that  of  cropping-up  into  consciousness  and  emer- 
,';;ing  from  simple  being  into  being  known.  Phenomena, 
entering  us,  turned  up  in  the  shape  of  sensations ;  en- 
tities, if  there  were  any,  in  the  shape  of  rational  thought, 
of  ideas  remotest  from  sense,  —  of  the  true,  the  beauti- 
ful, the  good.  If  in  the  makrokosm  around  there  was 
more  than  phenomena,  the  personal  mikrokosm  couhl 
not  but  repeat  the  tale  and  show  these  ovza  in  our  intel- 
lectual history.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  phenomena  were 
all,  then  in  us  also  there  could  be  only  sensations  and 
their  metamorphoses.  It  thus  lay  in  the  very  genius  of 
the  ancient  philosophy  that  the  problem  of  knowledge 
should  be  subordinate  to  the  problem  of  being,  —  the 
mere  shadow  or  reverberation  of  it  in  our  little  grotto  of 
consciousness  ;  and  that  it  should  be  judged  downward, 
from  the  great  circle  to  the  little.  That  there  could  be 
any  failure  of  concentric  arrangement,  —  any  misfit  be- 
tween existence  and  thought,  —  that  if  there  were  the 
real  as  well  as  the  seeming,  it  could  remain  incognizable, 
—  never  occurred  to  tlie  earliest  representatives  of  this 
controversy.  None  were  sceptics  of  realistic  knowledge, 
except  in  virtue  of  a  prior  scepticism  of  real  being. 


JOHN    STUART    MILL.  79 

Aristotle  certainly  had  no  such  scepticism  ;  and  his  cen- 
tre ^ersy  with  Plato  never  touched  the  question  lohelher 
we  had  ontological  knowledge,  but  only  the  question 
how  we  had  it.  Plato  explained  it  by  identifying  tiie 
objective  ideals  embodied  in  natural  kinds  with  our 
subjective  general  ideas  of  the  intellectual  constitution 
of  the  universe  :  its  hierarchy  of  essential  types  came  up 
into  conscious  forms  on  the  responding  theatre  of  our 
reason ;  so  that  we  could  read  its  entities  straight  off, 
in  virtue  of  our  sympathetic  share  in  the  thoughts  incar- 
nated within  it,  For  this  doctrine  of  immediate  fel- 
lowship of  reasovi  with  its  realities,  Aristotle  substituted 
a  path  of  gradual  approach  to  them  :  declaring  that, 
while  Nature  developed  itself  deductively,  thinking  itself 
out  into  actuality  from  the  general  to  the  particular,  and 
thence  to  the  individual,  we  must  trace  the  same  line 
regressively,  beginning  with  the  sensible  which  is  next 
to  us,  and  ascending  to  the  universals  which  are  furthest. 
But  this  difference  from  Plato  as  to  the  method  of 
knowledge,  involved  no  difference  as  to  the  things 
known.  The  goal  of  reason  was,  the  same  for  both 
—  the  apprehension  of  real  and  ultimate  entities.  The 
thing  known  by  the  consciousness  within  us,  itself  lav 
in  the  world  without  us.  This  example  shows  that  the 
denial  of  "  a-priori  ideas  "  carries  with  it  no  denial  of 
ontological   knowledge. 

In  modern  times,  from  causes  which  we  cannot  stop 
to  trace,  this  problem  has  been  taken  in  the  inverse 
order.  The  battle  between  the  real  and  the  phenomenal 
has  been  removed  from  the  Kosmical  to  the  Human 
theatre,  and  fought  out  on  the  enclosure  of  our  faculties. 
Without  prejudging   the  contents  of  existence,   it  ha^ 


80  JOHN    STUART   MILL. 

been  asked,  —  "How  far  do  our  cognitive  powers  go? 
Are  they  fitted  up  in  adaptation  to  phenomena  ah)ne? 
or  does  their  competency  reach  to  substantive  being  as 
■well  ? "  It  has  been  supposed  easier  to  stop  at  home 
and  measure  the  knowing  subject,  than  to  pass  out  and 
determine  the  known  object ;  and  accordingly  a  Logical 
critique  of  Man  has  taken  the  place  of  a  Metaphysical 
estimate  of  Nature.  Such  a  critique  (supposing  that 
■we  have  resources  for  conducting  it),  in  giving  us  the 
measure  of  ourselves,  gives  us  the  measure  of  our  world. 
Either  our  faculties  will  prove  equal  to  the  problem  on 
both  its  sides  ;  and  then  we  shall  stand  where  Plato  and 
Aristotle  left  us  :  or  will  turn  out  blind  to  all  except  the 
phenomenal  sphere ;  and  then  whatever  else  may  lurk 
behind  will  be  to  us  as  though  it  were  not,  and  the 
negation  of  knowledge  will  demand  the  non-affirmation 
of  being.  The  alternative  can  be  decided  only  by  psy- 
chological self-scrutiny.  Is  the  verdict  given  in  favor 
of  our  ontological  capacity?  it  can  only  be  on  the 
ground  that,  besides  our  mere  sensations  and  their 
associated  vestiges,  we  find  in  us  an  independent  order 
of  ideas,  carrying  with  them  intuitive  beliefs  affirmative 
of  existence  other  than  phenomenal,  and  no  less  entitled 
to  confidence  than  the  susceptibilities  of  sense.  Is  the 
verdict,  on  the  other  hand,  a  negative  one?  It  may 
rest  upon  either  of  two  pleas.  The  inde[)endent  testi- 
mony of  the  Ideas  of  Reason  may  be  denied,  by  resolv- 
ing them  back  into  elaborated  traces  of  sensation.  Or, 
again,  their  originality  and  intuitive  character  being 
allowed,  they  may  be  referred  to  the  mere  mould  or 
configuration  of  our  mental  constitution,  inevitable  for 
us,  but  not  on  that  account  declaring  itself  necessary  in 


JOHN    STUART    3IILL.  81 

nature ;  witli  authority,  tlicrcfure,  merely  subjective, 
and  destitute  of  all  objective  validity.  It  is  on  the 
former  of  these  two  pleas  that  Mr.  Mill,  in  common 
with  the  whole  school  of  Locke,  takes  his  stand  ;  while 
the  latter  is  the  ground  assum(!d  by  Kant  and  his  disci- 
ples. The  same  sce[)tical  conclusion  belongs  to  both  : 
and  the  difference  as  to  the  analysis  of  the  knov.iug 
powers  involves  no  difference  as  to  the  things  known, 
or  rather,  not  known.  This  example  shows  that  the 
affirmation  of  "  a-priori  ideas "  carries  with  it  no  af- 
firmation of  ontological  knowlcdoe. 

A  problem  imperfectly  conceived  cannot  be  effectively 
argued ;  and  no  ''  Coleridgian,"  it  is  probable,  ever  felt 
himself  hit  by  our  author's  occasional  reasonings  agamst 
him.  The  keen  aim  and  the  steady  hand  are  of  no  avr.il 
■where  there  is  an  optical  disphicement  of  the  thing  aimed 
at.  Be  his  polemic,  however,  against  the  o[)positc 
doctrine  what  it  may,  our  present  purpose  is  to  track 
through  his  [)hiloso[)hy  the  vestiges  of  his  own.  Is  our 
knowledge  limited  to  phenomena?  Tiien  we  must  part 
with, our  mathematical  entities,  —  Sj)ace,  the  a-jjriori 
ground  of  geometry,  —  Time,  of  succcssi\e  counting, 
or  number,  —  with  the  necessary  Infinitude  of  both. 
We  know  them  only  in  the  limited  samples  of  exi)e- 
rience,  as  attributes  of  body  and  em[)tiness,  of  events 
and  feelings,  over  an  indefinite  field.  And  the  pure 
geometric  figures,  with  the  jn'operties  they  involve,  in- 
stead of  being  truer  than  Nature,  are  false  co[)ies  of 
physical  forms,  yielding  only  approximate  inferences, 
whose  boasted  "necessity"  is  nothing  but  dei)cndencG 
on  inaccurate  hypothesis.  We  must  part  also  with  our 
Metaphysical  entities,  —  Substance,  as  the  ground  of 


82  JOHN    STUAUT    MILL. 

A-ttributcs,  be  it  Matter,  for  the  properties  of  nature 
without  us,  or  Mind,  for  the  phenomena  of  consciousness 
within  us  ;  Kind,  as  the  real  unity  of  essence  lookin;^ 
through  a  })hirality  of  individuals  ;  CausC,  as  a  principle 
of  dynamic  origination,  or  more  than  the  aggregate  of 
phenomenal  conditions.  We  must  part  with  our  Reli- 
gious and  Moral  entities,  —  God,  whether  as  transcend- 
ent cause  of  the  universe,  or  Mind  throughout  it,  or 
living  Light  of  human  Conscience ;  and  all  the  ideal 
meanings  in  nature  and  life,  whether  owned  as  final 
causes  by  Science,  or  caught  as  the  inner  expressiveness 
of  things  by  the  intuition  of  Art.  This  copious  surren- 
der of  natural  beliefs  is  the  inevitable  consequence  of 
the  primary  assumption  ;  it  is  shared  with  our  author 
by  the  Nominalist  Divines  of  Oxford  ;  and  is  no  further 
8j)ecial  to  him,  than  in  the  unwavering  consistency  and 
absence  of  self-deception  with  which  he  carries  it  out. 
Hence  his  contempt, — the  more  unsparing  from  its 
professing  to  spare,  —  for  the  recognition  oi'  purpose  in 
nature ;  expressed  in  sentences  like  this  :  "  Upon  this 
peg  he"  (i.e.  Professor  Sedgwick)  "ai)pends  a  disser- 
tation on  the  evidences  of  design  in  the  universe  ;  a 
subject  on  which  much  originality  was  not  to  be  hoped 
for,  and  the  nature  of  which  may  be  allowed  to  protect 
feebleness  from  any  severity  of  comment "  (vol.  i. 
p.  lOi)).  And  similar  is  his  impatience  of  any  expres- 
sion of  ivonder :  "And  here  he"  (Professor  Sedgwick 
again)  "begins  by  wondering.  It  is  a  common  propen- 
sity of  writers  on  natui'al  theology  to  erect  every  tiling 
into  a  wonder.  They  cannot  consider  the  greatness  and 
wisdom  of  God,  once  for  all,  as  proved,  but  think  them- 
selves bound  to  be  finding  fresh  arguments  for  it  in 


JOHN    STUART   3IILL.  83 

every  chip  or  stone  :  and  tliey  tlilnk  notliing  a  proof  of 
greatness  unless  they  can  wonder  at  it ;  and,  to  nio^-^t 
minds,  a  wonder  exphiined  is  a  wonder  no  longer " 
(vol.  i.  p.  105).  It  is  curious  to  compare  these  scorn- 
ful words  with  the  maxim  of  Bacon,*  —  ''  Adtitiratio 
est  semen  sapieritice;  "  with  the  statement  o^  Aristotle, f 
that  AVonder  is  the  primitive  philosophical  impulse ; 
Avith  the  graceful  saying  of  Plato,  J — ''It  is  a  ha[)[)y 
genealogy  which  makes  Iris  the  daughter  of  IViaiimas," 
—  i.  e.  which  treats  the  messenger  of  the  Gods,  —  the 
winged  thought  that  passes  to  and  fro  between  heaven 
and  earth,  and  brings  them  into  connnunion,  —  as  the 
child  of  Wonder:  "for  this,"  he  sa^-s,  "is  the  special 
sentiment  of  the  philosopher,  nor  has  his  pursuit  any 
other  source."  The  truth  is,  Mr.  Mill  expresses  here, 
as  in  all  else,  the  chai'acteristics  of  the  strictly  scientific 
mind,  whose  work  is  done  and  whose  contentment  is 
attained  when  the  order  of  [)henomena  is  fully  deter- 
mined, and  no  premonition  of  the  future  remains  to  be 
gathered  from  the  scheme  of  the  ])ast.  Were  this  the 
end  of  I^hilosophy,  as  it  is  the  end  of  Science,  his  view 
would  be  com[)lete. 

But  not  only,  in  our  author's  opinion,  is  oin*  knowl- 
edge limited  to  phenomena.  Among  phenomena  we  can 
know  only  the  internal — our  own  sensations,  thoughts, 
emotions.  The  whole  objective  world  vanishes  under 
his  analysis :  first,  its  substantive  ])retensions ;  then, 
even  its  attributive.  AVhat  do  we  know  of  matter? — • 
nothing  but  its  j)roperties.  What  do  we  know  of  its 
properties? — nothing  but  the  sensations  they  give  us. 

*  l)e  Aupmentis  Scieiit.  lib.  i.,  Montafju,  vol.  viii.  p.  8. 
t  Mutaph.  i.  2.  J  Thuu;t.  155. 


84  JOHN    STUART   »IILL. 

An  oliject  is  no  more  tlian  nn  nssocliitCMl  groiij)  of  quali- 
ties, the  onuineration  of"  which  exhaiist.s  what  we  have 
to  say  of  it.  A  quality  is  no  more  than  an  a.^isunicd 
jintl  unknown  source  of  some  affection  of  sense  :  so  th;it 
not  only  does  the  hot,  round,  bri<>;ht  sun  evade  us  ;  its 
heat,  its  form,  its  lij^ht  evade  us  too  ;  and  we  are  aware 
only  of  a  co-existent  warmth  and  visual  dazzle  of  the 
circular  kind.  The  third  chapter  of  the  ASyx/e;;?  of 
Logic  (book  i.)  expounds  this  doctiiiie  with  urcat 
clearness  and  amplitude.  In  sul)stitution  for  the  ten 
categories  of  Aristotle,*  Mr.  Mill  distributes  all  '*  name- 
able  thintTii" — all  possible  objects  of  thought  and  speech 
—  into  four  classes,  viz.  : 

•  W-;  are  suq>ris=e(l  that  Mr.  Mill  sboiild  troat  Aristotli^'s  list  as  an  attempt 
to  classify  "  NnmtaliU-  lhtnt;s"  and  drive  tlit-in  up  into  their  summit  (;intra. 
A  mere  fjiance  at  the  list  corrects  this  oonnnon  nii-conieption.  "  Xanieable 
things"  are  the  possible  o/ijcch  of  ihomjlit ;  and  consequcnlly  the  ''Names" 
thenistlves,  the  possible  xu/zjcds  of /jiiij)<isili"iig :  and  were  tlicse  the  matter 
divided,  we  should  have  in  tlie  Categories  a  c!assi(!cation  of  possible  Siihjirt^, 
ami  in  the.  Predieables,  of  [lossible  /';<-(//<• //f.f,  of  propositions; — a  very  in- 
structive pair  of  logical  results,  but  certainly  not  wliat  Aristotle  contemplated. 
Without  going  through  the  list,  it  is  evident  at  oiu'e  that  several  of  its  tenns 
(tf).  ~ooi  Ti,  TToi',  Tzi'in)  do  not  rei)resent  any  jiossible  subjects  of  proposi- 
tions. The  assortment  is  in  fact  an  enumerate  n,  not  of  things  signified  by 
N'liiH'f,  but,  as  Aristotle  himself  distinctly  explains,  of  all  |io-.-i!)Ie  meanings 
of  fin//le  \V<»-fl.i, —  including  Adverbs,  l'rci)ositions,  and  other  rtliliciuU 
words  which  arc  not  Xnincs  at  all.  IJegardcd  in  this  light,  the  catalogue  is 
not  indeed  nnexceiitionable;  but  does  not  yield  the  utter  absurdities  which  Mr. 
Mill  naturally  sees  in  it  as  a  list  of  the  most  extensive  classes  into  which 
things  could  be  distributed.  We  are  quite  aware  that  Mr.  Mill's  "  Xameable 
Things"  are  not  limited  to  SuhJvcU,  hut  include  also  what  is  "capable  of 
being  y>;W(CY(/ec/ of  other  Things."  Even  this  extension,  however,  does  not 
cover  the  ground  of  Aristotle's  Categories,  (inasnuich  as  the  relati<>nal  words 
cannot  be  predicates  any  more  than  subjects,)  while  it  disadvantageiiirly 
trenches  on  the  grotnid  of  the  I'redicables.  In  classifying  tic  si[,7ii-'r"iil 
iitiivig  of  liint/ufiffe,  all  mention  of  the  two  parts  of  the  predicative  relation  is 
as  yet  intrusive,  and  is  accordingly  avoideil  by  .Aristotle.  When  we  advance 
from  the  .Vccidence  to  the  Synta.\  of  Logic,  we  then  want  two  new  classiti>a- 
tions:    1st,  of  Xameable  things  or  possible  Subjects;   2dly,  of  I'redicable 


JOHN    STUART   MILL.  85 

*'  Ist.   Feelinijs  or  States  of  Cons-ionsnes?. 

2(1.  Tlie  jMiiids  whicli  expfi-ience  tlio.^ci  fc'cliniis. 

iJd.  The  liodi('?,  or  (ixteinal  objects,  which  excite  certain  of 
those  feeling-,  together  with  the  powers  or  pro[)erties  where!)y 
they  excite  thein. 

4th.  The  Successions  and  Co-existences,  the  Likenesses 
and  U.  likenesses,  bet^veen  feelings  or  states  of  consciousness. 
Those  i-elations."  it  is  added,  "  when  considered  as  subsisting 
between  othei*  tilings,  exist  in  realitji  only  bsticeen  tite  stnfes  of 
consciousness  whicij  those  things,  if  bodies,  excite  ;  if  minds, 
either  excite  or  experience"   {Loyir,  vol.  i.  p.  8.!>). 

TlionoJi  tlie  usages  of  l;inguage  forbid  our  autlior  to 
carry  hi.s  reduction  further,  he  gives  us  notice  that  the 
second  and  tliird  terms  are  but  sham  categories,  really 
resolvable  into  the  first.  Of  "  Mind  "  we  know  only 
the  "  feelings  or  states  of  consciousness  ;  "  of  ''Body," 
and  its  "  propei'tics,"  only  the  resulting  "feelings  or 
states  of  conscionsness  "  again.  The  existence  of  my- 
self, except  as  "  a  series  of  feelings,"  —  the  existence  of 
any  thing  other  than  myself,  ex('e[)t  as  the  feigned  and 
unknown  cause  of  sensations,  —  I  have  no  title  to  af- 
firm. Though  tlie  structure  of  human  speech  asi^umes 
them,  it  has  no  right  to  do  so  :  and  were  it  amenable  to 
the  true  laws  of  our  intelligence,  it  would  leave  us  with 
only  the  first  and  fourth  of  the  foregoing  heads.  We 
are  thus  shut  uj)  absolutely  in  Egoistic  phenomena, 
Avithout  cognizance  of  any  objective  world  beyond  our 
own  circumference,  or  subjective  axis  at  our  own  centre. 

lliiii;^,  or  possible  Prodicates.  I'roir,  Iiis  nmniiiL^  tniji'tlior  of  all  tlioso,  —  (Voin 
Ills  imivrii'ft  ii-^eof  the  distinction  between  the  extension  and  the  eoni)irehen- 
sjon  of  a  term,  —  and  (Voni  his  removal  ol'the  a  //criirc  ont  i>','  i')>iiia  into  ovofia, 
our  author's  aecouiit  of  the  "  Import  of  l'ro])ositious  "  seems  to  us  less  luini- 
uous  and  satisfactory  than  any  other  part  of  his  "  System  of  Lojjic." 


86  JOHN   STUART  MILL. 

Tills  is  unqualified  Idealism  :  the  more  so,  because  Mr. 
Mill  does  not  sto[)  with  the  assertion  that,  apart  from 
their  j)ro|)erties,  we  are  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  Mat- 
ter and  of  Mind  ;  but  pronoiuices  us  ignorant  of  their 
existence.  The  j)henouiena  to  which  we  are  rnnited  are 
regarded  by  other  philosophers  as  at  least  phenomena 
of  something;  by  him,  as  j)henomcna  of  nothintj. 
Berkeley  himself  did  not  remove  the  objective  world 
and  swallow  it  up  in  the  subjective  :  he  merely  changed 
it  from  material  into  Divine,  and  left  the  Personal  en- 
tities, of  Man  and  God,  undisturbed  and  alone  with  each 
other.  And  even  Fichte,  the  most  thoi()ugh-g*)ing  of 
all  Idealists,  while  taking  everything  into  the  subject, 
still  did  not  break  the  vessel  of  personality,  and  spill 
and  scatter  its  living  water  into  j)henomenal  spray. 
Our  author  goes  further,  and  says  :  we  know  of  nothing 
Avitlumt ;  we  know  of  only  change  within  ;  and  our 
whole  cognitive  life  consists  in  the  conscious  c-njparl- 
son  and  orderly  notice  of  our  feelings  and  ideas. 

There  is  no  part  of  Mr.  Mill's  s(;lieme  of  th!)ught  in 
which  this  idealistic  theory  of  cognition  does  not  make 
itself  felt.  It  induces  him,  as  a  psychologist,  to  cancel 
the  word  Perception,  and  to  deny  that  in  the  process 
it  denotes  there  is  any  thing  more  than  associated  Sen- 
sations. When  we  seem  to  be  carried  out  of  ourselves 
and  referred  to  a  world  beyond,  we  are  in  reality  only 
referred  from  one  of  our  own  sensations  to  others,  — 
from  a  single  member  of  a  cluster  to  the  rest,  —  from 
what  we  actually  feel  in  one  sense  to  what,  in  suitable 
positions,  we  n)lght  simultaneously  feel  in  another. 
AVhen  we  attribute  whiteness  to  snow,  we  say  that  a 
particular  sensation   of  color  belongs  to  a  group,  tha 


JOIIX    STUAUT    MILL.  87 

icniainder  of  which,  —  a  coldness,  a  softness,  a  sparkle, 
&c.  —  are  expressed  by  the  word  ''snow."  It  is  co- 
existence of  sensations,  and  nothing  else,  that  we  predi- 
cate. The  extreme  test  of  this  doctrine  is  found  in  our 
apprehension  of  distance,  form,  and  magnitude.  If 
these  can  be  stripped  of  their  externality  and  resolved 
into  modifications  of  self,  —  if  they  can  be  turned  from 
synchronous  relations  in  the  space  without  us  into  suc- 
cessive feelings  along  the  line  of  consciousness  within 
us, — the  Idealist  has  solved  his  hardest  riddle.  Our 
author  has  attempted  this  in  reply  to  Mr.  Samuel  Bai- 
ley's attack  on  Berkeley's  "Theory  of  Vision  :  "  and,  in 
spite  of  our  good  opinion  of  his  cause,  we  are  not  sur- 
prised that  his  arguments  have  failed  to  convince  the 
Sheffield  philosopher.  The  question  is.  How  do  we  see 
thinfjs  to  be  external  to  ourselves?  and  what  is  our 
belief  in  their  'outness'?  Mr.  Bailey  answers:  It  is 
an  immediate  intuition  or  revelation  of  the  visual  sense, 
requiring  no  other  condition.  Mr.  ^lill  first  answers  : 
It  is  a  mental  judgment,  consisting  in  the  suggestion  of 
tactual  and  muscular  sensations  by  visual  Avhich  have 
become  associated  with  them  in  experience.  But  then, 
imfortunately,  the  tactual  and  muscular  sensations  are 
not  external,  whilst  our  qua3situm  is:  so  that  the  thing 
said  to  be  "suggested"  does  not  fit  the  case.  To  escaj)e 
from  this  difficulty,  Mr.  Mill  next  remarks, — ""Whiit 
we  regard  as  external  is  not  the  sensation,  but  the  cause 
of  the  sensation,  —  the  thing  wliieh  by  its  presence  is 
supposed  to  give  rise  to  the  sensation  :  the  colored  ob- 
ject, or  the  quality  residing  in  that  object  which  we  term 
its  color"  (vol.  ii.  p.  93).  Tiie  "outness"  then  at- 
taches to  the  "  object,"  in  distinction  from  the  "  sensa- 


88  JOHN    STUART    MILL. 

lion;"  to  tlic  object  therefore  not  as  scon,  or  as  felt, 
but  as  "supposed."  AVliat  then  is  this  "  sup[)osition  "  r 
Docs  tlie  visual  impression  suffice  to  occasion  it?  If 
so,  UDthing  else  than  vision  is  wanted  for  the  belief  of 
"outness,"  and  Mr.  Bailey  is  right.  Or,  must  the  sup- 
position of  an  object  wait  for  the  sensations  of  Touch? 
Then  upon  these,  though  not  upon  visual  feeling,  a  be- 
ief  in  "  outness"  nuist  attend, — an  objective  apprehen- 
sion upon  a  subjective  experience  :  and  Touch  differs 
from  Vision,  in  carrying  with  it  ??iore  than  sensation. 
This  psychological  addition  to  sensation,  in  which  Mr. 
Mill  after  all  has  to  seek  his  "  outness,"  is  what  is  com- 
monly called  Ptvceptlon  by  those  who  trust  it.  With 
him  it  is  part  and  parcel  of  an  unauthorized  "suppo- 
sition "  res[)ecting  an  objective  source  of  our  feelings  ; 
and  is  not  owned  under  any  name  which  assigns  its 
valid  authority.  But  though  he  describes  it  in  dispara- 
ging terms,  he  cannot  dispense  with  it,  and  really  take 
us  out  of  ourselves  by  any  manipulation  of  inward 
sensations  :  and  the  only  difference  between  him  and 
Mr.  Bailey's  disci[)les  is  this  —  that  while  they  step  into 
externality  on  the  terra  finna  of  reliable  Perception,  he 
is  carried  thither  at  a  leap  uj)on  the  back  of  a  chiujera. 
The  advantage,  so  far,  appears  to  us  entirely  on  Mr. 
Bailey's  side.  Only,  we  cannot  think  him  rigiit  in 
attaching  the  indispensable  perceptive  function  to  the 
simple  visual  susceptibility.  It  is  to  the  cycii  as  mova- 
ble organs  that  it  belongs  ;  and  were  it  not  for  asso- 
ciation thus  established  with  the  uuiscular  system,  we 
believe  with  Berkeley  that  sight  would  no  more  give  us 
externality  than  smell.  Not,  however,  that  there  is  any 
magic  in  the  "  muscular  sensations  "  giving  thcni  an 


JOHN    STUART    3IILL.  89 

excci)tional  power  to  do  this  great  thing  for  us.  Were 
the  imiseles  insensible  as  ropes,  they  would  retain,  we 
believe,  their  distinction,  so  long  as  they  difFer  from  all 
our  mere  senses,  in  obeying  the  prior  signals  of  our  will, 
and  introducing  our  inner  causality  into  collision  with 
outwai'd  obstruction.  In  that  ex[)erience,  we  believe, 
lies  the  birth-point  of  our  objective  perceptions  and 
our  subjecti\  e  self-consciousness ;  including  both  the 
]\Iathematical  antithesis  of  here  and  there,  and  the 
Dynamical  antithesis  of  our  02vn  JPower  and  Power 
other  than  our  own.  AA'ith  ]\fr.  Mill  Ave  deem  vision 
])y  itself  incompetent  to  give  this  report.  AVith  !Mr. 
Bailey,  we  accept  the  re})ort  as  a  revelation  when  we 
get  it ;  and  regard  it  as  altogether  beyond  the  resources 
of  sensation,  and  needing  description  as  a  cognitive 
Perception.* 

To  follow  the  vestiges  of  our  author's  idealism  through 
certain  characteristics  of  his  logic  Avould  involve  too 
many  technicalities,  and  too  deep  a  i)liuige  into  the 
recesses  of  the  Nominalist  controversy.  He  naturally 
dislikes  the  language  of  classification,  invented  in  a  very 
ditierent  school  ;  and,  refusing  to  use  it  in  defining  the 
business  of  a  j)rcdicati()n,   ti'cats   every  pro[)ositiou    as 

*  How  (lifllcult  it  is,  on  Mr.  ^liU's  principles,  to  deal  witli  our  objective 
belief,  is  evident  on  examinin;^  liis  account  ot'  the  notions  ''  Siibi^tancc  "  and 
"Quality."  In  order  to  stej)  on  to  these  notions,  he  avails  himself  of  the 
idea  of  Oni»e.  "(Quality"  —  hidden  Cause  of  Sensation:  "Substance"'  — 
hidden  Cnu-fi-  of  qualities.  It  is  therefore  in  obedience  to  the  e.xiyeneies  of 
the  Cauhal  itlea,  that  we  are  carried  in  thouf^ht  Uhiud  phviiomMii,  and  set 
down  on  Ihe  ontoloj^ical  held.  Yet,  when  Jlr.  'SWW  conies  to  expound  this 
idea,  he  denies  to  it  any  but  a  phenomenal  nieaniuj;':  "  When,  iu  the  courst 
of  this  inipiiry,  I  speak  of  the  cnii^t  of  any  phenomenon,  I  do  not  mean  a 
cause  which  is  not  itself  a  |)!ieuomenon  "  (/.ot/ic,  i.  p.  3'.8).  'i"o  work  tins 
same  idea  both  ways,  —  now  to  ijet  up  (^in'  entities,  and  then  to  knock  tiieni 
down.  —  is  surelv  making  either  too  much  or  too  little  of  it. 


90  JOIIX    STUAUT    MILL. 

declariiifT  simply  a  co-cxistcncc  of  attrihiitos  ;  thus  In- 
terpreting both  subject  and  predicate  in  their  intension 
rather  than  their  extension,  and  i;i\ini;'  the  counter- 
development  to  the  quantitative  metlrxls  of  Mr.  l)e 
Morgan  and  Dr.  Boole.  If  we  are  at  liberty  to  sacri- 
fice psychological  truth  to  the  exigencies  of  a  calculus 
of  deduction,  either  princi[)le  is  ade(|uatc  to  its  end, 
though  the  advantage  practi(,'ally  lies  with  the  mathe- 
maticians. But  on  both  sides  the  unfortunate  copula 
secujs  to  us  to  be  put  upon  the  rack  and  made  to 
say  what  it  does  not  mean  ;  ansl  the  simple  fact  to  be 
overlooked,  that  we  naturally  construe  the  su!)ject  of  a 
proposition  in  its  extension,  and  the  i)redicate  (whicli 
therefore  may  be  an  adjective)  in  its  intension  :  sj  tli.it 
neither  co-cxistencc  of  attributes  nor  equation  of  groujKS 
correspond  witli  the  living  |)rocesses  of  thought  ;:in\ 
language.  But  on  this  special  field  we  nuist  not  enter. 
It  is  the  instinct  of  idealism,  whithei'soever  it  tuiDs, 
to  translate  objective  terms  and  concejjtions  into  sub- 
jective, and  to  draw  all  reality  and  meaning  into  the 
inward  life.  To  this  wc  attribute  the  charac-teristic 
prominence  given,  in  Mr.  Mill's  Mt)ral  doctrine,  to 
self-fornintioH  and  iiidividnalifi/.  The  fre(|ucncy 
with  which  he  recurs  to  this  topic,  and  the  earnest- 
ness with  which  he  sj)eaks  of  it,  show  how  higii  it  I'anks 
in  his  estimate.  It  is,  indeed,  the  great  i)rovince  of 
Ethics  which  he  would  lecover  fr.)m  the  neglect  of  pre- 
vious utilitarians.  Paley,  he  admits,  looks  too  exclu- 
sively "to  the  objective  consequences  of  actions,  and 
omits  the  subjective  ;  attends  to  the  effects  on  our  out- 
uard  condition  and  that  of  other  people  too  mu«'h,  to 
those  on  our  internal  sources  of  hap[»iiiess  or  unliap- 


JOHN    STUART    MILL.  01 

piposs  too  little"  (vol.  i.  p.  151).  And  of  Bentliaurd 
theory  it  is  still  more  strongly  said  that 

"  It  will  do  nothing  for  the  conduct  of  the  individual,  bej'ond 
prescribing  some  of  the  more  obvious  dictates  of  worldly  pru- 
th'iice,  and  outward  probity  and  beneficence.  There  is  nc 
need  to  exjjatiate  on  the  ileficiencies  of  a  system  of  ethics  which 
does  not  pretend  to  ^ud  individuals  in  the  formation  of  their 
own  clia  actcr  ;  wliich  recognizes  no  such  wish  as  that  of  self- 
cull  ure,  we  may  even  say  no  such'power,  as  existing  in  human 
nature  ;  and  if  it  did  recognize,  could  furnish  little  assistance 
to  tiiiit  great  duty,  because  it  overlooks  the  existence  of  about 
half  of  the  whole  number  of  mental  feelings  which  human 
beings  are  capable  or",  iu.du  llnj:  all  those  of  wliiidi  the  direct 
objects  are  states  oi'  thcii-  own  mind. 

"  Moi-ality  consists  of  two  parts.  One  of  these  is  self-edu- 
ciiMon  ;  the  tiai.iing,  by  the  human  being  himself,  of  his  affec- 
tions and  will.  That  department  is  a  blank  in  Bentham's 
system.  Til!!  other  and  co-e(pial  part,  the  regulation  of  his 
ontwiud  actio'is,  m  ist  lie  altogether  halting  and  imperfect 
without  the  first:  for  bow  can  we  judge  in  what  manner  many 
an  action  will  affect  even  the  worldly  interests  of  oursehes 
and  othei's,  unless  we  taki.'  in,  as  part  of  the  question,  its 
iuHui'Mce  Oil  the  I'cgulation  of  our,  or  their,  affections  and 
desires?"  (vol.  i.  p.  .ido.) 

Tiiis  is  well  and  wisely  said  :  and  it  groatly  narrows 
the  g-rouiid  of  difference  between  the  opposite  schools  of 
ethics.  Only  secure  at  the  outset  a  perfect  prouraniine 
of  Innnan  nature;  take  into  account  all  its  aims  and 
affections,  including  its  asi)irations  after  "  ideal  ends  ;  " 
fvccept  these,  ranged  on  their  own  scale  of  intensity  and 
self-estimation,  as  gi\cn  facts;  let  the  whole  picture, 
once  draw  n  l>y  thorough  psychological  survey,  stand  as 
true    li)r    humanity    and    linimpeachable   by   tiie   defect.-i 


32  JOHN    STUART    3IILI.. 

(tf  individuals;  —  and,  under  such  conditions,  Butler 
himself  will  consent  to  your  conipntini;-  your  code  on 
"the  Greatest-Happiness  princi[)le."  For,  evidently,  the 
"greatest  happiness"  of  a  nature  which  has  moral  atfec- 
tions  to  begin  with,  aims  at  perfection  and  idotis  of  it 
which  it  feels  to  be  authoritative,  —  will  be  very  differ- 
ent from  that  of  a  nature  simply  sentient,  and  ha\  ing 
as  yet  to  determine  itself  liither  or  thither  by  tlie  relish 
of  its  pleasures  and  the  repulsion  of  its  pains.  Each 
propensity,  separately,  brings  us  satisfaction  when  it 
gains  its  end:  but  if  we  are  so  constituted  that,  taken 
out  of  a  certain  oider  and  proportion  amonii-  the  rest, 
that  satisfaction  is  again  spoiled  ;  if  the  same  is  true  of 
all  in  turn,  so  that  for  the  whole  series  there  is  an  ideal 
law,  the  dislocation  of  which  is  the  wreck  of  our  inward 
peace  ;  if,  further,  there  is  inherent  in  this  misery  the 
S[)ecial  consciousness  that  it  is  what  we  have  no  right  to 
incur,  —  then  you  can  settle  the  due  order  of  life  by 
the  rule  of  "  huppiness,"  should  it  so  please  you  ;  for 
this  rule  is  itself  but  the  expression  of  a  prior  scale  of 
natural  excellence  and  authority.  All  inward  rightness 
invohiug  satisfactioji,  the  satisfactit)n  may  be  used  as 
its  sign.  Only,  unfortunately,  the  sign  cannot  well  be 
made  apparent,  exce[)t  to  those  who  already  know  the 
thing  signified. 

Notwithstanding,  however,  the  great  part  which  this 
"  Self-perfecting "  by  an  inward  ideal  plays  in  our  au- 
tlior's  ethics,  and  its  value  as  a  I'ornuda  for  completing, 
—  we  should  rather  say,  relinquishing,  —  the  utilitai-i.tn 
theory,  we  find  a  difficulty  in  so  co'ubining  his  expo- 
\;itions  of  it  as  to  settle  it  on  any  philosophical  basis. 
In  the  passage  just  cited,  it  is  described  as  covering  one 


JOHN  stuai;t  :mill.  93 

half  of  tlie  whole  ground  of  morality.  iNIor.dity  ij^, 
however,  in  all  cases  but  a  means  to  an  end  (^Logic, 
p.  385),  and  that  end  is  declared  to  be  happiness. 
Mr.  ]MiIl  accordingly  points  out,  as  will  ha\e  been 
observed,  thatj  without  studying  the  effects  of  our  con- 
duct on  our  own  characters,  we  cannot  compute  even 
its  external  influence  on  the  affairs  of  oursehes  and 
oliicrs.  Here  the  self-training  is  vindicated  on  the 
general  utilitarian  ground  that,  without  it,  there  will 
be  an  omitted  class  of  consequences.  V\'e  uuist  take 
care  of  our  affections  and  will,  as  being  im[)ortant  to 
the  interests  of  oiu'selves  and  others  :  and  this  particular 
position,  as  not  an  end  in  themselves,  but  an  instrument 
of  something  idterior,  is  essential  to  make  the  care  of 
them  a  moral  act.  Yet  elsewhere  our  author  lifts  this 
self-f)rmation  out  of  all  subsidiary  relations,  and  com- 
plains of  Bentham   that 

"Man  is  never  leeoi^nized  by  liim  ms  a  being  capable  of  pur- 
suing spiritual  perfection  as  an  end;  of  desiring.  /?>/•  lis  aim 
sale,  the  conformity  of  his  own  eliaraeler  to  liis  standard  of 
excellence,  without  hope  of  good  or  fear  of  evil  from  other 
source  than  his  own  inward  conseionsness  "  (vol.  i.  p.  339). 

"What  is  that  to  me?"  Bentham  would  re[)ly  :  "did 
you  not  say  that  all  morality  is  directed  to  an  end 
beyond  it?  If  this  j)ursuit  of  yours  is  good  on  its 
own  account,  it  docs  not  belong  to  morality  ;  and  it  is 
no  imputation  on  me,  as  a  moralist,  that  I  say  nothing 
about  it.  A  man  may  make  it  his  end  to  conform  to 
his  own  standard  of  excellence  :  so  nuuh  the  worse  for 
him  if  the  standard  is  a  bad  one,  talk  as  he  may  of 
sj)iritual  perfection."  And  in  truth  ]\Ir.  Mill  himself 
elsewhere    expressly    treats    as    ?««-iiioral    and    i)urely 


&4  JOIIX    STUAlir    MILL. 

assthctlcal  tliis  rcaliziitijn  of  inwiird  liannonv,  this  con- 
f'onnitv  with  ideal  laws  ;  and  j)r!)nounces  it  sentimental 
"  to  set  this  aspect  of  actions  above  the  moral,"  which 
looks  to  their  consequences  : 

"  Every  human  action,"  lie  observes,  '"has  three  aspects: 
its  moral  aspect,  or  that  of  its  right  and  wrong ;  its  cesthetlc 
aspect,  or  that  of  its  heauhf ;  its  sympafhotlc  as{)ect,  or  that  of 
its  lovableness.  The  first  a(l(lress(;s  itself  to  our  reason  and 
conscience ;  tite  second  to  our  imagination ;  the  third  to  our 
human  fL-llovv-feeling.  According  to  tlie  first,  we  approve  or 
disappjove ;  according  to  the  S'cond,  we  admire  or  despise; 
according  to  the  tliird,  we  love,  jtity,  or  dislike.  The  morality 
of  an  action  depends  on  its  foreseeable  consecpieiices ;  its 
beauty,  and  its  lovableness.  or  tlu;  reverse,  depend  on  the 
qualities  which  it  is  evid^Mu  e  of.  Thus  a  lie  i-;  wrong.,  because 
its  effect  is  to  mislead,  and  because  it  tends  to  destroy  the 
confidence  of  man  in  man ;  it  is  also  mean,  because  it  is  cow- 
ardly—  because  it  proceeds  from  imt  daring  to  face  tiie  con- 
sequences of  telling  the  truth  —  or  at  best  is  evidence  of  want 
of  that  power  to  compass  our  ends  by  straightforward  means, 
which  is  conceived  as  properly  b(;l()Ugiug  to  every  person  not 
deficient  in  energy  or  in  understanding.  The  action  of  Brutus 
in  senteueing  his  son  was  rigid,  because  it  was  executing  a 
law  essential  to  tiie  freedom  of  his  country,  against  persons  of 
whose  guilt  there  was  no  doubt :  it  was  admirable,  because  it 
evinced  a  rare  degix-e  of  pati'iotism,  courage,  and  self-control : 
but  there  was  nothing  lovable ;  it  affords  cither  no  presump- 
tion in  regard  to  lovable  qualities,  or  a  presumption  of  their 
dufi.iency.  If  one  of  the  sons  had  engaged  in  the  conspiracy 
from  affection  for  the  other,  his  actiou  would  have  been  lov- 
able, though  neither  moral  nor  admirable.  It  is  not  possible 
for  any  sophistry  to  confound  these  three  modes  of  viewing  an 
action ;  but  it  is  very  possible  to  adheie  to  one  of  them  exclu- 
sively, and  lose  sight  of  the  rest.     Sentimeutality  consists  in 


JOHN    STUAKT    MILL.  95 

seltin;]^  ih'j  la>t  two  of  the  three  above  the  first;  the  error  ol 
iiiorali.sis  ill  general,  and  of  Beiitliain,  i.s  to  sink  the  two  hitter 
entirely"  (vol.  vi.  p.  387). 

If  this  distinction  is  good  in  our  criticism  of  otliers, 
it  will  apply  no  less  to  our  own  case.  And  surely  if 
there  be  any  form  of  our  personal  energy  wiiich  bclon<>s 
to  the  second  head,  and  takes  shape  froni  the  ''ima- 
gination" of  ethical  "beauty,"  it  is  the  self-aj)proxima- 
tion  to  an  ideal  standard  "on  its  own  account."  In 
proportion  as  the  aim  to  be  gains  upon  the  intent  to  do, 
does  "  sentimentality,"  as  above  defined,  take  place  of 
"morals."  With  what  consistency,  then,  can  Bentham's 
disregard  of  this  aim  be  treated  as  a  curtailment  of 
morality  by  full  half  its  whole  amount?  It  seems  to 
us  that,  in  our  author's  scheme,  this  as[)iration  after  an 
inward  perfection  floats  about  without  settling  in  its 
pi'0[)er  place.  It  is  as  if  lie  lilt  it  more  than  utilita- 
ria.n,  and  so  let  it  have  an  ideal  end  of  its  own  ;  yet 
also  more  than  lusthetic,  and  so  ciiargcd  it  with  tiie  half 
of  human  morals.  It  is  the  old  problem  of  the  /■alov 
and  the  uyaOov, — diflicult  to  Plato,  impossible  to 
Bentham.* 

In  truth,  there  is  nothing  in  the  utilitarian   theory, 

*  Mr.  ^Mill's  distinctions  tiro  usually  taken  with  so  iniicli  precision,  that 
we  hardly  venture  to  confess  our  inipcrlect  satisfaction  with  his  account  of 
the  Moral  as  Oiiisalice  of  "foreseeable  ccii^cqiitinv^;"  and  of  the  yKslhilic 
and  Lnfnl)l(i  as  Kxpresshe  of  inner  "(jiifilili<s."  Ail  throe,  we  should  say. 
are  ei|ually  ilxprcsiire ;  and  the  essence  of  their  effect  upon  us  lies  in  wi-.at 
liiey  severally  c.vpress.  The  Moral  expresses  jircj'troire  niiio'.iij  .yiriurs  <;/' 
nilundiry  conduct:  the  yEsthetie,  inirnrd  hnriin'iii)  vr  J'tirce,  liii^.'lniil  irij  ".<  irt  ,'l 
(IS  niltinliiry :  the  \M\ah\Q,  />:ii'tuiixiiiiit  iijl'tcliiiii'iliiii.<s.  iiiui:il  nr  not.  It  smin 
to  lis  fpiite  arbitrary  to  say  that  our  .\ji/>ro//ili<)ii  is  charactcri/c  d  by  lookiuj^ 
r.way  I'rom  tiie  principle  and  down  to  the  conse(|uenccs  of  .uli'iu.  We  -iinid-J 
say,  itfi  sympathy  goes  riijht  up  to  tlie  spiritual  source!  within  the  cliaratter, 
just  as  much  as  in  the  cases  oi'  Ad lui ration  and  AJ/'tciwn. 


96  JOHN    STUAIJT    MILL. 

liowovcr  enlarged,  for  this  se!f-f:)nn:\ti  )n  to  rest  upon, 
beyoiul  tlie  exigencies  of  our  obligations  to  our  fcllow- 
nien.  Wlnj  should  si  man  mould  himself  uiuIcm'  the 
pressure  of  "si  vsiguc  feeling  and  inexi>li('ablc  internal 
conviction"?  (p.  385.)  Is  it  to  escape  tl'.c  uneasiness 
of  disappointed  as[)irsition  ?  This  can  be  done  by  per- 
severingly  neglecting  the  as[)iration  far  more  cftectn:dly 
thiui  by  realizing  it,  and  so  advancing  it  to  sm  ulterior 
stsige.  Besides,  if  this  ^\■cre  sdl,  what  else  would  t!ie 
pursuit  be  but  the  indidgence  of  a  spiritual  luxury, — 
the  highest  refinement  of  egoism?  Imjjrisoncd  within 
tiie  circle  of  myself,  conscious  indeed  of  dittcrcncps 
amomr  mv  affections,  but  not  warranted  in  treating 
them  as  significsmt  of  any  thing,  I  am  constituted  of 
mere  subjective  emotions  :  I  can  but  spin  around  my 
own  centre,  and  whether  on  this  axis  of  preference  or 
on  that,  I  equally  fulfil  my  law  of  being.  Plant  nic 
alone  amid  a  desert  of  negation,  with  susceptibilities 
that  are  the  index  of  nothing,  smd  powers  in  conununi(m 
with  nothing ;  and  whatever  ferment  of  elements  thoic 
may  be  within  me,  —  storms  of  broken  equilibrium  and 
liarmonies  of  returning  calm,  —  they  can  but  constitute 
some  form  of  taste  and  i)rudence,  smd  can  never  make 
a  duty  :  there  is  no  rule  of  higher  and  lower  that  coidd 
be  pronounced  valid  for  any  second  nature  that  shoultl 
enter  on  the  vacsint  field.  One  half  of  self,  —  if  it  be 
only  self, — cannot  chiim  the  worship  of  the  other, — 
any  more  than  a  ventriloquist  can  learn  any  thing  from 
his  two-voiced  dialogue,  or  si  single  actor  can  ])lay  oi.t 
a  real  drama  by  chsmge  of  dress.  For  obligatinn  \\c 
must  have  an  authority,  —  for  sidmiration,  a  beauty,  — 
for   reverence,   a  goodness,  —  beyond  self  suid   higher 


JOHN    STUAllT    MILL.  07 

than  self:  and  unless  wc  may  accept  our  subjective 
a]»prehensions  of  spiritual  excellence  as  significant  of 
objective  realities,  and  look  upon  our  "ideal  ends"  as 
the  openings  on  us  of  a  purer  Will  and  the  communion 
of  a  supreme  Perfection,  we  do  not  see  how  they  can 
ever  be  more  than  the  phantasms  of  a  vision  or  lend  us 
any  wing  effectual  against  our  own  weight.  jNIr.  Mill 
himself  remarks,  in  concurrence  with  ]Mr.  Grote,  the 
fact  that,  in  its  })rimitivc  form,  the  sense  of  obligation 
is  exclusively  of  the  personal  kind.  "Personal  fecl- 
in;^<«  either  towards  the  gods,  the  King,  or  some  near 
and  known  individual,  fill  the  whole  of  a  man's  bosom  ; 
out  of  them  arise  all  the  motives  to  beneficence,  and 
all  the  internal  restraints  upon  violence,  antipathy, 
and  rapacity  :  and  special  conununion,  as  well  as  special 
solemnities,  are  essential  to  their  existence"  (vol.  ii. 
p.  321).  Is  this  so  certainly  a  mere  puerility  of  early 
so:-iety,  doomed  to  be  advantageously  replaced  by  "the 
Impersonal  authority  of  the  Laws"?  or  is  it  only 
the  most  elementary  expression  of  an  ineffaceable  fea- 
ture in  our  nature?  and  do  "the  Laws"  themselves  per- 
ha[)S  prevail  not  as  "  impersonal "  and  al)stract,  but  as 
representing  the  higher  personality  of  the  Xation,  repre- 
8ente<l  through  the  livuig  voice  of  assembled  dikasts? 
and  does  conscience  itself  sj)eak  in  more  solemn  tone  in 
proportion  as  it  seems  to  reveal  a  \Vill  greater  than 
opinion  and  auguster  than  our  own  ?  And  is  it  not 
then  possible  that  we  may  yet  return,  with  glorified 
interj)retation,  to  that  early  stage,  and  by  re-translating 
duties  into  personal  relations  between  the  Human  and 
the  Divine,  restore  to  them  the  living  power  of  affection 
and  fidelity  ? 

7 


98  JOHN    STUART   MILL. 

The  subjective  principle  of  our  niitliDr's  p]iil<)s()[)hy 
pervades  his  littM*ary  code  :  and  \orv  charactcrijitically 
«ppears  in  an  attempt,  hii!;hly  inj^enioiis  and  sngf^jfcstive, 
to  answer  the  untiring  rpiestion,  "What  is  poetry?" 
He  replies,  It  is  the  spontaneous  expression  of  feeling; 
and  all  thoughts  and  words  which  pour  out  feeling,  not 
for  influence  on  others,  but  as  in  soliloquy,  are  in  their 
essence  poetry  :  and  the  poetic  minds  are  those  whose 
thoughts  are  linked  by  feelings,  and  determined  into 
existence  by  the  laws  of  emotion.  ]\Ir.  Mill's  poet  must 
be  nil  loneliness  and  intensity,  —  a  kind  of  sjMiitual 
firework  going  off  of  itself  in  infinite  night.  So  iso- 
lating a  definiti«)n  would  in  no  case  a})ply  to  other  than 
lyric  poetry  ;  and  our  author  has  the  courageous  con- 
sistency to  adoj)t  the  limitation,  and  to  consider  the 
drama  and  the  ej)ic  redeemed  from  prose  only  by  the 
intermixture  of  lyrical  elements.  Did  we  even  acce|)t 
this  startling  restriction,  the  theory,  we  think,  makes 
far  too  much  of  mere  quantity  of  sensibility  ;  which  is 
often  strongly  marked  in  minds  eminently  unpoetical. 
I>ut  above  all  it  is  any  thing  rather  than  solitary,  self- 
evolved  feeling  that  constitutes  the  j)i)et.  lie  more 
than  any  goes  forth  out  of  himself,  and  mingles  his 
very  being  with  the  nature  and  humanity  around  him  ; 
entering  into  their  essence  by  humbling  his  own,  and 
directing  on  them  the  idealizing  <rlance  which  looks  in 
at  their  eyes  and  reads  their  heart.  He  lives,  not  to 
express  himself,  but  to  interpret  the  world,  and  become 
the  vocal  organ  of  the  silent  universe  and  the  ilumb 
bouls  of  men. 

The  excessive  appreciation  of  "  individuality  "  wliich 
was  noticed  in  a  recent  review  of  our  author's  treatise 


JOIIN    STUART    ]\iILL.  99 

on  "Liberty,"  bel()nc:s  to  tlic  ssmic  ijciicral  tendency. 
His  sympathies, — unless  in  tlie  form  of  pity,  —  scarcely 
seem  to  touch  the  common  level  of  human  life,  or  to 
ackno\vle(lg;e  any  vital  connection  with  the  general  faith 
and  conscience.  His  fears,  his  despondencies,  his  pre- 
cautions, all  look  towards  the  social  sentiment,  in  whose 
conservative  moral  elements  he  sees  little  else  than  the 
joint-stock  opiuious  of  mediocrity  and  vulgarity  ;  and 
his  hopes  somewhat  languidly  and  scantily  fly  to  emi- 
nent and  exceptional  personalities  who  can  see  over  the 
heads  of  the  crowd.  The  old  Pagan  trust  in  "wisdom," 
with  ])athetic  or  supercilious  gaze  on  all  below,  re- 
appears in  him  :  and  "  thinJcers,"  —  'Agreed  thiiihers,'^ 

—  step  forth  so  often  u[)on  his  page,  and  conduct  their 
mission  with  so  njucli  pomp,  that  the  mother-wit  of 
modest  readers  grows  quite  ashamed  and  blushes  to  the 
eyes.  When,  for  instance,  the  announcement  is  made 
that  it  "  is  becoming  more  and  more  the  grand  effort  of 
all  minds  of  any  power,  which  embark  in  literature," 

—  "to  have  something  to  say"  (\ol.  i.  p.  240),  homely 
people,  who  never  made  "the  grand  effort,"  know  at 
once  that  they  have  not  "  minds  of  any  ])ower,"  and 
naturally  shrink  before  the  knitted  brows  of  such  self- 
elaboration. 

Many  of  our  readers,  we  doubt  not,  Avill  have  frit 
a  certain  surprise  and  incredulity  at  finding  Mr.  Mill 
classed  with  "Idealists."  The  term  seems  to  contradict 
some  of  his  best-marked  tendencies,  and  not  at  all  to 
hit  the  kind  of  influence  w  hich  his  writings  liave  exer- 
cised.     Had  we  classed  him  with  "  Materialists,"*  we 

*  The  •word  "  Jlaterialisin,"  it  should  be  olwervcd,  stands,  witli  a  difl'er- 
eut  raiiiio  ormcuiiing,  in  two  distinct  antitheses.    As  opposed  to  JmmuttriaU 


100  JOirx    STUAlfT    MILL. 

should  probaMy  have  hcM'ii  tli')ni:Iit  ne:uor  tlic  mnrk. 
And  the  truth  is  (for  we  must  quality  a  strong  asser- 
tion by  a  yet  stronijor),  he  is  6oM,  and  presents,  in 
different  parts  of  Iiis  doctrine,  two  opposite  sides,  vvlneh 
often  practically  co-exist,  whether  or  not  they  are  philo- 
sophically coherent.  On  the  one  hand,  we  have  found 
him  resolvinj^  all  our  knowledije,  "both  materials  nutl 
sources,"  into  >SV//-knowledge  ;  denying  any  co;i:nitive' 
access  to  either  fpialities  or  bodies  external  to  us  ;  and 
shutting  us  up  with  our  own  sensations,  ideas,  and  emo- 
tions. But  on  the  other  hand,  though  we  knoiv  nothing 
but  the  phenomena  of  ourselves,  we  are  nothing  but 
phenomena  of  the  world  :  the  boast  is  vain  of  any  thing 
original  in  the  mind  :  the  sensations  from  which  all 
within  us  begins  are  the  results  of  "outward  expe- 
rience :  "  the  pretended  a-priori  ideas  turn  out  a-posle- 
riovi  residues  :  the  volitions  that  set  up  as  sponlaueitiea 
are  necessary  effects  of  antecedents  earlier  than  we  : 
the  truths  we  seem  to  win  by  pure  deductive  intelli- 
gence are  but  interpretations  of  physical  induction  :  and 
the  characters  we  think  our  own  ai"e  but  subservient 
copies  (if  the  influences  aroimd  us.  Our  author's  Avhole 
picture  of  man  exhibits  him  as  a  natiu"al  product, 
shaped  by  the  scene  on  whi(!h  he  is  cast ;  and  he  rejects 
every  theory  without  exception  which  has  been  set  u[), 

Mm,  it  is  concenied  with  the  question  of  the  blind's  uUiinate  Fuhstance,  and 
denotes  the  opinion  that  the  Mental  Phenonifuu  are  refera!>le  to  tiie  same 
substance  which  manifests  tiie  Physical;  not  to  a  difFercnt  one,  as  the  luiina- 
terialist  contends.  As  opposed  to  Idenlisni,  the  word  is  concerned  with 
another  question,  viz.  the  equal  or  unequal  orij;inalitj'  and  trustworthiness 
of  our  Subjective  and  OI»jective  knnwled};e.  To  hold  the  balance  even 
l)etween  them  is  Dualism:  to  resolve  the  latter  into  the  former  is  /ih-dism: 
to  resolve  the  former  into  tht  latter  is  Matvrialism.  It  is  iu  Uiis  lost  sense 
alone  that  wc  have  to  do  Avith  the  word. 


JOIIX    STUAllT    ?.IILL.  101 

in  psychology,  in  logic,  in  morals,  to  vindicate  the 
autoiioni}'  of  human  reason  and  conscience.  And  thus 
we  are  landed  in  this  singular  result :  our  only  s})lierc 
ot"  cognizable  reality  is  subjective  :  and  that  is  gener- 
ated from  an  objective  world  which  we  have  no  reason 
to  believe  exists.  In  our  author's  theory  of  cognition y 
the  non-ego  disappears  in  the  ego  ;  in  his  theory  of 
bei}/g,  the  ego  lapses  back  into  the  non-ego.  Idealist 
in  the  former,   he  is  Materialist  in  the  latter. 

This  sul))ection  of  man  to  physical  nature  exhibits 
itself  in  a  Sensational  psychology  ;  whicli,  while  con- 
demning Condillac's  simplification  of  Locke  as  mere 
verbal  generalization,  does  but  stretch  the  same  mate- 
rials upon  a  diHWent  loom,  and  weave  the  whole  web 
of  our  mental  life  out  of  the  data  of  sense.  The  nearer 
we  are  to  sensation,  the  less  room  is  there  for  error  and 
uncertainty  :  as  we  recede  from  it  into  abstractions  of 
the  understanding  and  ideas  of  reason,  tin  tenure  of  our 
truths  is  more  j)i'ecarious  :  and  consciousness,  however 
entitled  to  be  believed  about  tactual  and  ocular  impres- 
sions, is  to  be  distrusted  in  all  re[)orts  which  decline  to 
go  back  thitlier  fur  authentication.  In  s[)ite  of  Mr. 
Mill's  denying  us  all  legitimate  access  to  an  external 
world,  no  one  allows  so  little  that  is  original  to  the 
mind  itself,  or  places  so  little  reliance  on  what  there  is. 
That  a  belief  shoidd  be  provided  for  in  the  miiul's  own 
constitution,  and  be  inseparable  from  the  very  action  of 
its  faculties,  is  an  idea  which  he  resents  like  an  affront  ; 
if  it  be  so,  it  is  a  sheer  tyranny  of  nature  :  there  may 
l)(!  no  help  for  it ;  he  may  be  com[)cl!ed  to  believe  ;  but 
he  will  do  it  under  jirotest,  and  declare  that  he  has  no 
ground  for  it,  and  would  escape  if  he  ciudd. 


102  JOHN    STUART    MILL. 

"I  nm  Jiware,"  he  says,  "that  to  ask  for  evidence  of  n 
proposition  which  we  are  supposed  to  believe  instinctively,  U 
to  expose  oneself  to  the  charge  of  rejecting  tlie  authority  of 
the  lunnan  fucnhies;  which  of  course  no  one  can  consistently 
do,  since  the  human  faculties  are  all  which  any  one  has  to 
judge  by;  and  inasmuch  as  the  n  eaning  of  the  word  'evi- 
dence '  is  supposed  to  be,  .something  which  when  lai<l  before 
the  mind  induces  it  to  believe,  to  demand  evidence  when  the 
belief  is  ensured  by  the  mind's  own  laws  is  sup|)osed  to  be 
appealing  to  the  intellect  against  the  intellect.  But  this,  I 
apprehend,  is  a  niisiuiderstanding  of  the  nature  of  evidence 
By  evidence  is  not  meant  any  thing  and  every  thing  wiiich 
produces  belief.  There  are  many  things  which  generate 
belief  besides  evidence.  A  mere  strong  association  of  ideals 
often  causes  a  belief  so  intense  as  to  be  unshakable  I)y  expe- 
rience or  argument.  Evidence  is  not  that  which  the  mind 
does  or  must  yield  to,  but  that  which  it  ought  to  yield  to, 
namely,  that,  by  yielding  to  which,  its  belief  is  kept  conform- 
able to  fact.  Tliere  is  no  appeal  from  tlie  human  faculties 
generally,  but  there  is  an  appeal  from  one  faculty  to  another  ; 
from  the  judging  faculty,  to  those  which  take  cognizance  of 
fact,  the  facidties  of  sense  and  consciousness.  To  say  that 
belief  suffices  for  its  own  justification,  is  making  opinion  tiie 
test  of  opinion:  it  is  denying  the  existence  of  any  outward 
standard,  the  conformity  of  an  opinion  to  which  constitutes  its 
truth.  AV^e  call  one  mode  of  forming  opinio'.is  riglit,  and 
another  wrong,  because  the  one  does,  and  the  other  does  not, 
tend  to  make  the  opinion  agree  with  fact — to  make  people, 
believe  what  really  is,  and  expect  what  really  will  be.  Now 
a  mere  disposition  to  believe,  even  if  supposed  instinctive,  is 
no  giuirantee  fi)r  the  truth  of  the  thing  believed.  If.  indeed, 
the  belief  ever  amounted  to  an  irresistible  necessity,  tliere 
would  then  be  no  vse  in  appealing  from  it,  because  there  would 
be  no  pos>ibility  of  altering  it.  But  even  thc:i  the  truth  of 
the  belief  would  not  follow  ;  it  would  only  follow  that  mankind 


JOHN    STUART    MILL.  103 

were  under  a  permanent  necessity  of  believing  what  might 
possibly  not  be  trne ;  just  as  they  were  under  a  tempomry 
necessity  (quite  as  irresistible  while  it  lasts)  of  believing 
that  tlie  heavens  moved  and  the  earth  stood  still"  (^Logic, 
vol.  ii.  p.  94). 

The  case  of  supposed  intuitive  belief  which  is  here  in 
the  author's  contemplation  is  the  so-called  "principle 
of  Causality,"  —  the  maxim  that  "every  phenomenon 
must  have  a  cause."  Were  we  discussinf!^  this  par- 
ticular axiom,  we  should  present  it  under  another  form, 
—  "every  phenomenon  is  a  manifestation  of  power,"  in 
order  to  sa\  e  it  from  beino-  confounded  with  a  verv  dif- 
ferent,  and  by  no  means  self-evident,  proposition,  — 
"  every  phenomenon  has  the  same  constant  phenome- 
nal antecedent  :  "  and  should  [)rotest  against  identifying 
the  empirical  expectation  of  "  uniformity  among  natural 
successions "  with  the  necessary  belief  in  "  Universal 
Causation."  The  (irst,  involving  a  question  of  mere 
order  among  |)erceptil)le  events,  Mr.  Mill  is  entitled  to 
call  "a  fact  in  external  nature,"  and  to  regard  as  wait- 
ing u})on  "evidence:"  it  is  for  the  latter  alone  that 
axiomatic  authority  can  justly  be  claimed.  AVe  have 
quoted  the  passage,  however,  with  no  view  to  this 
special  instance,  but  solely  to  illustrate  our  author's 
treatment  of  "intuitive  and  necessary  beliefs."  We  can 
thoroughly  imderstand  his  reluctance  to  concede  their 
existence,  his  precautions  agninst  installing  mere  preju- 
dice and  mental  limitation  into  the  honoi's  of  first  prin- 
ciples, his  seepticisni  of  a  pretension  which  has  certainly 
been  grossly  abused.  But  when  he  says  otitiight,  that 
a~priori  beliefs,  really  inherent  in  the  mind,  are  totally 
unworthy  of  trust,  however  imperiously  they  may  com- 


104  JOIIN    STUAKT    MILL. 

pel  submission  ;  suul  when  he  casts  about  for  some 
appeal  against  tlieni, — either  from  thouirht  to  "fact," 
or  from  faculty  to  faculty,  — he  seems  to  us  to  lose  all 
his  logical  bearings,  and  forget  the  base  which  he  had 
measured  with  so  much  care.  What  security  can  there 
be  for  any  truth,  —  of  ^^ fncV  or  of  thought,  —  a 
'posteriori  or  «  priori,  —  if  the  positive  and  primary 
afliruiations  of  our  mental  nature  may  be  suspected  of 
making  fools  of  us?  The  assumption  of  unveracity, 
once  made,  cannot  arbitrarily  stop  witli  the  [)rovince 
which  Mr.  Mill  wishes  to  discredit.  He  hinjscif  also 
nuist,  somewhere  or  other,  come  to  an  end  of  his 
"evidence"  and  "proof,"  and  be  landed  on  principles 
not  derivative,  but  primary  :  and  then  he  must  either 
accept  their  coercion  "  because  there  is  no  use  in 
ai>[)ealing  from  it,"  or  unconditionally  rely  on  them  as 
tlu;  report  of  truthful  faculties  ;  and  in  either  case  is 
on  the  same  footing  with  his  a-priori  neighljor.  Be 
the  "  proof"  what  it  may  which  authenticates  the  belief, 
it  is  the  faculty  which,  in  the  last  resort,  authenticates 
the  proof.  And  whither,  in  the  supi)osed  cases  of 
intuitive  belief,  does  Mr.  Mill  contemplate  carrying 
the  appeal?  He  exj)resses  this  in  two  ways  :  (1)  objec- 
tively ;  he  would  bring  the  belief  to  an  "  outward  stan- 
dard," to  the  test  of  "fact,"  "experience,"  "external 
nature:"  (2)  subjectively;  he  would  remove  the  trial 
from  one  faculty  to  another,  from  the  "judging  "  faculty 
to  "sense  and  consciousness."  But,  as  to  the  first, 
ha\e  wc  not  been  already  taught  that  we  know  nothing 
external  to  ourselves?  smd  even  were  it  otherwise, 
the  knowledge  would  have  no  other  voucher  than  the 
instinctive  apprehensions  on  which  we  are  discouraged 


JOHN    STUART    MILL.  105 

from  relying.  And  as  to  the  second  statement,  we 
have  to  ask,  how  are  we  to  settle  ichtch,  of  a  plurality 
of  faculties,  sits  in  the  higher  court?  and  by  what  title 
esj)ecially  sense  and  consciousness  jire  set  in  the  chief 
seat,  yet  both  of  them  debarred  fiom  "judging"  any 
thing,  and  restricted  to  the  re])oi-ting  of  our  sensations 
and  ideas  as  inward  "facts"'?  \^  not  qualified  to 
"judge,"  how  can  they  revise  "judgments"?  And  if 
they  are  qualified,  then  their  testimony  must  be  accept- 
ed, with  all  that  it  carries  in  it, — the  counter-realities 
of  object  and  subject,  and  the  very  principle  of  eausjtiity 
inseparable  from  their  discovery.  By  denying  Perccj)- 
tion  as  distinguished  from  Sensation,  Mr.  Mill  him.^elf 
incapacitates  "  sense  "  for  bearing  witness  to  any  thing 
but  the  sensations  within  us  :  how  then  can  he  appeal 
to  it  for  a  verdict  on  a  maxim  claiming  to-  be  valid  for 
the  universe?  lie  treats  every  thing  external,  —  all 
body  and  all  qualities,  —  as  mentally  feigned  to  serve 
as  "  unknown  causes "  of  our  sensations  :  but  if  the 
objective  world  is  just  an  hypothesis  invented  to  satisfy 
"the  princi[)le  of  causality,"  how  can  he  aj)i)eal  to  it  to 
pronounce  sentence  on  that  principle  itself?  He  either 
disbelieves  or  believes  this  objective  world.  Does  he 
disbelieve  it,  on  tlje  ground  that  all  om-  knowledge  is 
subjective?  then  his  "outward  standard"  for  testing  the 
causal  })rinciple  is  non-existent.  Does  he  believe  it? 
then  he  does  so  on  the  strength  of  this  causal  principle 
itself,  and,  in  accepting  the  hypothesis,  grants  the 
paramount  necessity  of  "  unknown  causes"  for  known 
phenomena. 

The  dominance  of  Sensation  in  Psychology  is  natU' 
rally  followed  by  the  dominance  of  Induction  in  Logic. 


106  JOHN    STUAKT   MILT^. 

Accordingly,  our  author's  whole  treatment  of  this  sub- 
ject carries  out  his  crusade  against  "  tlie  a-priorities," 
and  his  thorouirh-jjoinj;  determination  to  hunt  down  all 
general  propositions  into  elementary  concrete  facts. 
All  his  characteristic  opinions  respecting  the  process  of 
reasoning  are  of  the  same  type  and  tendency  :  that  we 
draw  inferences  from  particulars  to  particulars  without 
passing  through  any  generalization  ;  that  the  deductive 
procedure  has  no  cogency  of  proof,  but  is  simply  an 
interpretation  of  our  notes  of  prior  inductions  ;  that  the 
syllogism  involves  a  petitio  principii ;  that  geometri- 
cal demonstration  is  only  a  carrying  out  of  false  physical 
measurements.  These  doctrines,  though  deriving  fresh 
strength  from  Mr.  Mill's  powerful  advocacy,  are  not 
new  ;  and  they  are  among  the  standing  marks  of  what 
is  called  "the  empirical  philosophy."  They  depend  for 
the  most  part  on  a  peculiar  view  of  abstraction,  gene- 
ralization, and  naming,  which  would  require  us,  Avere 
we  to  discuss  it,  to  drag  our  readers  into  the  innermost 
recesses  of  psychology.  One  remark  only  will  we  make 
in  regard  to  our  alleged  inference  from  particulars  to 
particulars,  without  use  of  any  intermediate  generali- 
zation. All  advance  to  new  truth  implies  the  co- 
oj>oration  of  two  conditions :  viz.  certain  objective 
data  or  facts,  as  material  for  the  mental  action  ;  and 
a  certain  subjective  mode  of  dealing  \.'ith  these  data, 
—  a  law  of  the  mind's  action  upon  them.  To  the  first 
we  necessarily  attend,  and  we  consciously  realize  them, 
thinking  distinctly  both  of  the  known  thing  from  which 
we  start,  an^l  of  the  previously  unknown  on  which  we 
are  landed.  But  the  other,  being  the  mere  form  of  our 
own  life  for  the  moment,  takes  effect  of  itself  without 


JOIIX    STUART   MILL.  101 

asking  leave  of  our  self-consciousness  :  it  is  not  reflected 
on,  because  it  is  itself  our  reflective  act.  All,  there- 
fore, that  we  need  ex[)licitly  state  to  ourselves,  and  set 
forth  as  the  "evidence,'" — or  external  inducement, — 
of  a  particular  conclusion,  i-s  the  particular  datum  which 
moved  us  to  draw  it :  and  for  your  belief  that  you  are 
mortal  you  adduce  sufficient  reason  when  you  say,  — 
the  ])eople  I  have  known  and  heard  of  have  been  mor- 
tal. But  this  would  not  act  upon  you  as  a  reason  at 
all,  were  it  not  a  law  of  your  mind  to  proceed,  on  suffi- 
cient hint  from  j)articular  cases,  to  the  idea  of  a  hhid, 

—  in  the  })resent  instance,  liuuuiti  kind,  —  in  wliich 
the  same  attribute  inhci'es  all  through.  It  is  only 
because  you  are  an  individual  "  of  a  certain  descrip^ 
tion"  (as  Mr.  Mill  has  it),  —  an  example  of  the  kind, 

—  that  you  know  yourself  to  be  mortal.  If,  tlierefore, 
the  latent  condition  of  the  ])rocess  is  to  be  laid  bare, 
if  the  implicit  princi[)lc  of  the  reasoning  is  to  be  made 
explicit  (and  without  this  there  is  no  psychological 
analysis  at  all),  it  is  indispensable  to  state  the  general 
mental  law  in  virtue  of  which  particular  data  conduct 
us  to  a  particular  conclusion.  That  we  do  not  make 
the  imiversal  proposition  an  object  of  tlionght  and 
visible  step  to  our  inference  {e.g.  "all  men  are  mor- 
tal," as  proving  that  "we  are  mortal")  is  no  justifica- 
tion of  its  expulsion  from  the  logical  analysis  ;  the  very 
object  of  which  is,  not  to  state  the  "evidence,"  but  to 
go  behind  the  evidence,  in  reasoning,  —  not  to  be 
content  with  the  objective  conditions  of  the  jirocess,  but 
explicitly  to  give  tiie  subjective  too.  From  a  similar 
limitation  of  his  view  to  the  objective  side  of  reasoning, 
and  an  oversidit  of  Aristotle's  distinction  between  what 


108  JOHN    STUART   MILL. 

tl»c  niiml  has  tv  Sfvuim  ami  what  it  has  tv  tviQyei'^t,  iNIr 
jMill  has  laid,  as  wc  think,  an  nnicasonable  stress  on 
tlie  ohari>e  of  petltio  priiicipii  air:iinst  the  syUogism. 
The  Aristotelians  at  all  events  have  an  easy  retort.  If 
there  is  no  deduction  without  petitio  priucipii,  there 
is  no  induction  without  concluding  a  particulari  ad 
tmiversale :  and  all  our  reasoning,  of  eirher  kind,  is  in 
violation  of  logical  rules.  There  is  nothing  in  this 
paradox  that  will  frighten  us,  when  once  we  apprehend 
the  true  n:iture  and  limits  of  logical  lules.  It  is  e\ ident 
that  we  could  never  make  a  steji  in  reasoning,  if  we 
onhj  reasoned  ;  if  v/e  neither  add  any  thing  to  our 
premises  ah  extra,  nor  draw  any  tiling  ab  intra,  that 
was  not  comprised  in  them  befoi'C,  no  new  thing  ever 
can  appear.  So  long  as  the  mind  itself  is  allowed  to 
contribute  nothing,  out  of  its  own  modes  of  activity, 
to  the  enlargement  or  the  evcdution  of  the  data,  these 
data  of  themselves,  objectively  measurcil,  will  lie  still 
for  ever  and  yield  nothing  :  and  it  is  the  mutual  phiy 
of  comprehension  and  extension,  the  metaphysical  pos- 
tulate of  causation,  and  the  idea  of  the  unity  of  kinds, 
tliat  put  the  dead  materials  in  iiunion,  and  elicit  a 
li\ing  advance. 

If,  in  his  aim  to  supplement  Bentham,  our  author 
yielded  to  an  idealistic  impulse,  he  remained  true,  in 
what  he  retained  from  the  great  utilitarian,  to  the 
materialistic  tendencies  of  the  school.  The  inward 
side  of  ethics  is  made,  in  every  aspect,  dependent  on 
the  outward.  Do  we  ask  what  determines  the  moial 
quality  of  actions?  we  .are  referred,  not  to  their  spring, 
but  to  their  consequences.  Do  we  inquire  how  we 
come  by  our  moral  sentiments?    by  contagion,  we  are 


JOim   STUART   MILL.  108 

told,  of  other  people's  approbation  nnd  di«^approbation, 
not  by  any  self-reHcctive  judijnicnts  of  our  own.  Do 
we  seek  for  the  adequate  sources  of  a  man's  guilt  or 
good:ie.-:s?  we  are  presented  with  an  enumeration  of 
the  external  conditiims  which  made  his  character,  like 
his  health,  just  what  it  is.  Instead  of  the  self- 
formation,  —  the  evolution  from  within  towards  an 
unrealized  type  of  perfection, — we  have  man  treated 
as  a  natural  product,  moidded  by  surroundiu  pressures 
on  his  sentient  susce[)tibilities.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
about  the  decisive  ])reponderance  of  tiiis  latter  view  in 
our  author's  wiitinijs.  Thou;i"h  he  is  willini>;  for  a 
moment  to  borrow  a  light  from  the  subjective  doctrine, 
and  find  something  genial  in  its  glow,  he  resolves  it 
in  the  end  into  an  illusory  brilliancy,  —  the  mirage  of 
a  mental  atmosphere  charged  with  earthly  vapors  and 
disturbed  with  accidental  lefractions.  Though  he  recog- 
nizes the  fact  expressed  by  the  words  "Conscience," 
"  Moral  Rectitude,"  "Principle,"  and  insists  on  its  im- 
portance in  human  natiu'c,  he  allows  it  only  actual  foice 
(such  as  any  superstition  might  win),  not  ethical 
authority  ;  and,  with  James  Mill,  psychologically  de- 
duces it,  with  the  aid  of  Hartley's  law  of  ti'ansference, 
from  the  original  datum  of  self-love.  These  apparent 
concessions  constitute  but  the  semblance  of  aj)proxi- 
mation  between  the  two  doctrines  :  it  has  never  been 
about  \\\c.  fact  of  a  moral  consciousness  that  they  differ, 
but  about  its  value;  and  distrust  of  it  is  equally  pro- 
duced by  its  denial  and  by  its  disparagement.  If  it 
is  nothing  but  a  compendium  of  boi-rowed  i)rejudi(!es 
and  interested  preferences,  all  starting  from  egoistic 
1  leasnres,  but  by  chemical  combination  wrought  into  a 


no  JOHN   STUART   MILL. 

passion  that  forgets  its  birth,  and  now  ]ov(\s  it  over 
others  with  its  "  ipse-dixitisin,"  it  is  idle  to  make  a 
merit  of  aeknowledijing  such  a  "  spring  of  action  "  as 
this,  and  to  imagine  that,  by  doing  so,  Imman  nature 
is  presented  in  a  more  respectable  light.  Mr.  Mill 
repeatedly  protests  against  the  common  identification 
of  the  utilitarian  scheme  with  the  "  selfish  theory  ;  "  on 
the  ground  that  the  former,  in  determining  the  morality 
of  actions,  tnkes  into  account  the  consequent  pleasures 
and  pains  to  other  people  as  well  as  to  the  agent.  It 
certainly  does  so  actually  in  Bentham's  hnnds :  and 
might  do  so  legitimately  under  any  philosophy  which 
established  an  obligation  other  than  ])rudential  to  con- 
sult for  the  happiness  of  others.  This,  however,  is 
pj-ecisely  what  Bentham  does  not  do  :  an<l  for  want  of 
it,  the  unselfish  superstructure  of  his  system  is  sini|)ly 
imposed,  without  any  logical  cohesion,  upon  a  com- 
pletely selfish  base.  By  speaking  of  pain  and  j)le:ism'e 
as  if  they  were  objective  and  impersonal  quantities, 
earning  values  irrespective  of  their  individual  appro- 
priiition,  he  slips  into  the  delusive  facility  of  treating  the 
agent's  hapjiiness  and  that  of  others  as  interchangeable 
and  homogeneous  magnitudes  in  every  problem.  But 
in  proving  his  first  principle,  —  the  exclusive  govern- 
ance of  human  life  by  pain  and  pleasure,  —  he  rests 
entirely  on  the  paramount  value  to  each  man  of  his 
o7cn  pleasures,  and  the  impossibility  that,  without  this 
clement,  life  could  be  desirable  to  him  at  all.  Xor  was 
Bentham  at  all  inclined,  in  his  doctrine  of  human 
nature,  at  any  time  to  think  that  the  question  of  mcum 
and  ti(2tm  made  no  difference  in  the  value  of  a  pleasure. 
"Think  not,"  he  said,  "that  a  man  will  so  much  as  lift 


JOHN    STUART    MILL.  Ill 

lip  liis  little  finder  on  your  behalf,  unless  lie  sees  hia 
advantage  in  it !  "  From  iiis  j)reinises  as  they  stand  no 
rule  of  life  can  be  consistently  detluced,  but  the  selfish 
one  that  the  ajicnt  must  be  determined  bv  a  recjard  to 
his  own  happiness;  including;,  of  course,  the  portion  of 
it  tliat  may  be  wrapped  up  with  the  happiness  of  other 
people.  Bentham's  own  benevolence  of  disposition 
easily  carried  him  over  from  this  narrow  rule  to  that  of 
the  greatest  happiness  of  all  persons  concerned.  But 
even  his  disciples  have  felt  it  to  be  one  of  the  greatest 
lacunce  of  his  system,  that  no  scientific  proof  identified 
the  "hap[)iness  of  all  concerned,"  which  was  his  rule, 
with  the  "  happiness  of  the  agent,"  which  was  his 
princii)]e.  It  was  only  in  so  far  as  he  was  inconse- 
quential that  he  emerged  from  the  limits  of  the  selfish 
system.  The  defect  which  he  left  has  been  carefully 
supplied  in  more  recent  developments  of  the  doctrine, 
—  especially  by  James  Mill  and  Mr.  Austin.  The 
principle,  however,  resorted  to  for  the  purpose,  involves 
and  allows  no  departure  from  the  selfish  basis.  It 
simply  avails  itself  of  association  and  interdependence, 
to  extend  the  sphere  of  our  personal  happiness  so  as  to 
include  among  its  conditions  the  happiness  of  others. 
It  justifies  benevolence  on  the  ground  of  self-love, — 
disinterestedness,  as  the  ultimate  fruit  of  interest.  We 
aie  far  from  denying  the  importance  of  establishing  the 
real  harmony  between  the  prudential  and  the  social 
principles  in  our  nature,  or  from  doubting  that  a  real 
advance  towards  this  end  is  made  jrood  bv  the  method 
SO  skilfully  applied.  But,  ai'ter  all,  it  leaves  the 
"pleasure  to  one's  self"  as  the  actual  spring,  and 
the  legitimating  ground  of  every  volition  ;  it  makes  the 


112  JOHN    STUART    MILL. 

claims  of  others'  good  contingent  on  its  identification 
with  our  own  ;  it  recommends  self-denial  on  the  plea 
of  self-indulgence :  and  thus  never  really  crosses  the 
boundary  which  separates  interests  from  obligations, 
but  simply  pushing  forward  the  lines  of  prudence  till 
they  enclose  the  whole  ethical  field,  adoi)ts  the  symbols 
and  landmarks  of  duty,  with  an  altered  significance. 
We  must  honestly  say,  that  this  sort  of  recognition  of 
others' happiness,  as  "cause  of  [)leasure  to  ourselves," 
seems  to  us  still  to  lie  within  the  limits  of  the  "  selfish 
system  :  "  by  which  we  understand,  the  doctrine  that  the 
idea  of  pleasure  to  oneself  is  the  mainspring  that  cannot, 
a!id  need  not,  be  absent  from  any  act  of  the  human 
will.  And  though  this  "  theory  of  motives  *'  appears  in 
literature  and  life  much  more  extensively  than  any  sys- 
tematic notions  on  morals,  it  has  undeniably  co-exiisted 
with  the  utilitarian  doctrine  in  all  the  great  repi'csen- 
tatives  of  the  school.  In  the  pages  of  Bentham  and 
James  Mill,  the  two  theories  advance,  hand  in  hand,  to 
the  assault  on  "the  ordinary  morality."  Why,  then, 
if  Professors  Sedgwick  and  Wheweli  choose  to  attempt 
a  joint  repulse  of  them,  should  this  be  rebuked  as  either 
stupid  or  dishonorable  championship? 

There  seems  to  be  something  irresistibly  irritating  to 
the  utilitarian  mind  in  the  bare  mention  of  an  internal 
principle,  known  to  us  hy  self-consciousness,  from 
which  a  moral  theory  may  be  developed.  Paley  can- 
not resist  a  quiet  sneer  at  "  the  Moral  Sense  man." 
Bentham  degrades  him  from  the  text  into  a  foot-note ; 
—  will  not  have  him  in  the  same  room,  but  puts  the 
conceited  fellow  in  the  closet  —  aaid,  baiting  him  there 
with  a  troop  of  jeers,  makes  even  that  too  hot  to  hold 


JOHN    STUAKT    MILL.  113 

him.  James  Mill  considers  him  only  less  conttMnptible 
than  Si>'  James  Macintosh.  And  our  author,  impa- 
tient, it  would  seem,  at  having  to  spend  pains  on  such 
a  fool,  scarcely  listens  to  him  enough  to  catch  his 
thought  and  answer  what  he  means.  He  more  than 
once  asserts,  for  instance,  that  "  the  contest  between 
the  morality  wiiich  appeals  to  an  external  standard,  and 
that  which  grounds  itself  on  intci-nal  conviction,  is  the 
contest  of  progressive  morality  against  stationnry,  — 
of  reason  and  argument  against  the  deiKcation  of  mere 
opinion  and  habit"  (vol.  ii.  p.  472).  Why  so?  Why 
should  the  appeal  to  a  common  Conscience  in  mankind 
be  more  egoistic  and  anti-[)rogressive  than  the  appeal 
to  a  common  Reason  ?  Does  an  author,  who  has  so 
distinguished  himself  in  Logical  psychology,  and  whose 
writings  mark  an  era  in  its  "progress,"  doubt  that  there 
is  also  a  Moral  psychology,  equally  exempt  from  a 
stationary  doom  ?  A\'hat  n)atters  it  to  the  possibihties 
of  development,  whether  the  data  for  our  ethical  judg- 
ments are  found  within  or  v.ithoi'.t,  —  in  a  cumparisou 
of  the  springs,  or  a  comparison  of  the  results,  of  action? 
Take  which  system  you  will,  you  have,  in  fact,  to  carry 
your  scrutiny  into  both  spheres.  Are  you  Utilitarian? 
in  spite  of  your  "external  standard,"  you  have  to  esti- 
mate "intention,"  "temptatitm,"  and  other  inward  ele- 
ments. Are  you  a  ]Moral  Consciousness  man  ?  the  only 
thing  settled  for  you  within,  is  the  rehitive  authority  of 
the  several  Springs  of  Action  ;  and  to  get  at  the  right 
act,  out  of  several  possible  to  the  same  spring,  you 
must  go  out  and  look  at  its  consequences,  like  a  Bentha- 
mite. Of  course,  if  there  are  no  hiws  of  Moral  con- 
sciousness within   us,  and  what  we   take   for  such   are 

8 


114  JOHN    STUART    MILL. 

only  pickcd-up  opinions  without  common  ground  in  our 
humanity,  a  morality  appealinoj  to  them  cannot  make 
scientific  advance:  not,  however,  because  they  arc 
internal,  but  because  they  are  illusory.  To  exphjde 
error,  on  whichever  side  it  lies,  is  certainly  to  secure 
progress.  But  Mr.  Mill's  proposition  we  understand 
to  be,  that  on  the  trulh  of  the  one  or  the  other  of  the 
two  schemes  it  depends,  whether  morals  arc  stationary 
or  progressive.  Such  an  assertion  cannot  appear  just 
except  to  those  who  fancy  the  Moral  Faculty  to  be,  in 
the  creed  of  its  believers,  a  sort  of  oracidar  Pythoness 
seated  in  the  mind,  to  pronounce  categorically  on  every 
problem  brought  up  for  solution. 

In  sj)ite,  then,  of  the  opposite  tendencies  c(»-exlstlng 
in  Mr.  Mill's  minil,  his  sympathy  with  the  8ul)jcctive 
methods  is  not  strong  enou";h  to  secure  a  judicial 
insight  into  their  real  bearings.  lie  is  in  tlie  end  so 
comi)letely  carried  off  by  the  objective  school,  that  we 
doubt  whether,  if  Comte's  influence  could  have  pre- 
ceded that  of  the  elder  Mill,  any  introspecti\e  side, 
any  psychological  faith  (at  best  rather  shaky  after  its 
first  enthusiasm  is  over),  would  have  appeared  at  all. 
Had  the  two  tendencies  found  their  perfect  balance  and 
adjustment  in  himself,  his  occasional  descriptiims  of 
them,  as  manifested  in  the  history  of  philosophy,  would 
have  been  unimpeachably  correct.  Yet,  notwithstand- 
ing such  outward  resemblance  to  the  truth  as  intellec- 
tual conscientiousness  and  adequate  reading  can  secure, 
our  author's  historical  illustrations,  —  when  taken  from 
ancient  or  from  modern  continental  philosophy,  —  al- 
most always  affect  us  like  a  portrait  in  which  the 
measurements    and    the    features    seem    faithfully    laid 


JOHN    STUART    MILL.  115 

down,  while  the  essential  expression  is  missed.  The 
friendly  intimacy,  the  livinjr  communion  of"  thought,  i^i 
■wanting  between  the  artist  and  his  subject,  ere  the 
picture  can  speak  to  you  as  true.  We  can  illustrate 
our  meaning  by  only  one  example,  selected  simply 
because  it  broadly  generalizes  the  relations  between 
the  metaphysical  and  empirical  schools,  and  so  ena- 
bles us  to  dispense  with  much  critical  reference  to  the 
particular  philosophers  named. 

'*It  has  always  been  indistinctly  felt  that  the  doctrino  of 
a-priori  principles  is  one  and  the  same  doctrine,  whether 
applied  to  tlie  6v  or  tlie  8^i)v  —  to  the  knowdedae  of  trutli  or 
to  that  of  diitv  ;  that  it  belongs  to  the  same  general  tendency 
of  thought,  to  extract  from  the  mind  itself,  without  any  out- 
ward standard,  principles  and  rules  of  morality,  and  to  deem 
it  possible  to  discover,  by  mere  intro-pe;-tio;i  into  our  minds, 
tlio  laws  of  external  nature.  IJoth  i'orms  of  lh;s  mole  of 
thought  attained  a  brilliant  develo;)ment  in  Descai'tes,  I  he 
i-eal  founder  of  the  modern  anti-indii  tive  s  hool  of  philo  ophy. 
The  Cartesian  tradition  was  never  f  st,  being  kept  alive  by 
direct  descent  through  Spinoza,  Leibnitz,  and  Kant,  to  Scliel- 
ling  and  Hegel ;  but  the  speculations  of  Bacon  and  Lo 'ke, 
and  the  progress  of  tlie  experimental  stiences,  gave  a  long 
peiiod  of  predominance  to  the  i)hih)Sophy  of  experience  ;  and 
though  many  followed  out  that  philosophy  into  its  natural 
allia;ices,  and  acknowleslged  not  only  observation  and  experi- 
ment as  rulers  of  the  speculative  world,  but  utility  of  the 
practical,  others  thought  that  it  was  scientilically  possible  to 
separate  the  two  opinions,  and  professed  themselves  Baco- 
nians in  the  physical  departimint,  remaining  Cartesians  in 
the  moral.  It  will  prol,'al)ly  be  thought  by  posterity,  to  be  the 
])rincipal  merit  of  tlie  German  melaphvsicians  of  the  last  and 
j)rescnt  age,  that  they  have  proved  the  im|)Ossibility  of  resting 
on  this  middle  ground  o'i  compromise ;  and  have  convinced  all 


116  JOHN    STUAUT    MILL. 

thinkers  of  siuy  force,  that  if  they  Jiilli're  to  the  (h)_'trine  (»f 
a-priori  principles  of  morals,  they  niur>t  jbllow  Descartes  and 
Ilegel  in  aseribiug  the  same  character  to  the  jjrinciples  of 
physics"  (vol.  ii.  p.  457). 

Now  \vc  fully  accept  the  statement  here  made,  that, 
in  all  consistency,  the  metaphysical  method  either  goes 
into  both  worlds,  —  what  i.s',  and  what  ought  to  he,  — 
or  keeps  out  of  both.  We  further  agree,  that  Descartes 
foimd  a  function  for  it  in  both,  Locke  in  neither.  But 
Avho  the  nameless  philosophers  are  that,  excluding  it 
from  the  one,  kept  it  in  the  otiier,  we  are  quite  unable 
to  conjecture :  and  till  we  are  better  infbiined,  we 
remain  sceptical  of  their  existence.  Further,  we  can- 
not acknowledge  that  the  metaphysicians  in  cither  field 
ever  ])roposed  "  to  discover  the  laws  of  natm-e "  "  by 
mere  introspection  into  our  own  minds;"  if  by  this  is 
meant  that  they  wished  to  dispense  with  "  observation 
and  experiment,"  and  to  set  up  as  an  "anti-inductive 
school."  They  always,  and  without  exception,  so  far 
as  we  know,  found  room,  within  each  of  the  two 
provinces,  for  both  methods,  —  the  a-prlorl  and  the 
a-posteviori ;  the  one  being  deemed  proper  for  the  de- 
tection of  entities,  the  other  ibr  the  ascertainment  of 
piienomena  and  their  laws.  When  the  phenomena 
were  mental,  the  result  was  Empirical  Psychology  ; 
■when  external.  Empirical  Physics.  The  two  modes 
of  procedure  actually  sit  side  by  side,  and  receive 
gome  of  their  most  characteristic  developments  in  the 
"  Ethica  "  of  Spinoz:i ;  the  psychological  parts  of  which 
are  as  comi)letely  empirical  as  the  researches  of  Ilobbes, 
and  full  of  direct  and  striking  anticipations  of  the  Mill 
doctrines   themselves.      We   are   not    aware    that    any 


JOHN    STUART    MILL.  117 

metaphysician,  be  he  ever  so  "Colci'iclgi;in,"  can  be 
named,  wlio  has  supposed  tliat  the  pro[)er  work  of 
induction  could  be  achieved  by  intuition.  It  was  not 
until  the  "  Baconians "  came  upon  the  stage  and  ac- 
quired ascendancy,  that  one  of"  the  procedures  endeav- 
ored totally  to  expel  the  other,  and  unconditionally 
claim  the  whole  field.  The  a~priovi  people  never 
dreamt,  in  regard  to  their  a-po.steriori  neighbors,  of* 
trying  the  writ  of  ejectment  with  which  they  now  find 
themselves  served.  The  only  dispute  between  them 
was  a  boundcay  dispute,  —  where  exactly,  on  the  as- 
cending slope,  the  perceptible  laws  of  phenomena 
merged  in  the  logical  evolution  of  necessary  being 
(such  as  space),  on  the  descending.  Haunted  by  the 
analogy  of  Geometry,  in  which  sequences  of  pure 
thought  seemed  to  open  out  relations  and  connections 
of  real  existence,  the  Cartesians  undoubtedly  pushed 
the  a-i)rlori  claim  beyond  its  just  limits,  and  attempted 
conquests  with  it  which  it  cannot  make.  And  it  is  not 
unnatural  that,  in  the  exultation  of  victory  over  them, 
their  opponents  should  meditate  dispossessing  them  of 
everything.  As  to  the  result, — if  there  be  nothing 
but  phenomena,  these  opponents  will  succeed  :  other- 
wise, we  suppose,  not.  But  that  the  residt,  whatever 
It  be,  will  be  sweeping,  can  be  doubted  by  none.  The 
"  middle  ground  of  compromise,"  by  suriendcr  of  the 
natural  and  reservation  of  the  moral  field,  is,  we  think, 
quite  imaginary  :  atul,  with  sincere  deference  to  Mr. 
Mill's  great  authority,  we  doubt  whether  the  position, 
Teutonically  provetl  untenable  to  "all  thinkers  of  any 
force,"  has  ever  been  taken  up  by  a  single  English 
writer,  or  attacked  by  a  single  German.     Keid,  Stew- 


1 1  )  JOHN    STUAUT    MILL. 

twt,  Ilamillon,  Wliewcll,  all  put  liniits  on  the  resourcea 
of  the  a-posteriori  metlioil :  and  all  carry  the  same  rule 
of  restriction  into  the  natural  as  into  the  moral  sphere ; 
for  the  most  part,  amid  mutual  differences,  leaving  the 
same  fundamental  ideas  in  the  field  of  exemption, — 
Si)ace,  Time,  Substance,  Cause,  on  the  one  hand ; 
Personality,  Moral  Obligation,  Preferential  Freedom, 
on  the  other. 

The  characteristics  on  which  we  have  ventured  to 
dwell  are  more  discernable  in  the  occasional  writings 
before  us  than  in  the  author's  systematic  works.  No- 
where, however,  are  they  so  conspicuous  as  broadly  to 
challenge  the  eye  :  like  all  foundations,  they  hold  what 
is  above  them  in  the  light,  but  lie  hid  themselves. 
Tl»ey  have  more  to  do,  we  believe,  with  Mr.  Mill's 
marked  influence  u[)on  his  age,  with  both  the  fear  and 
tlie  admiration  so  strongly  directed  towards  iiim,  than 
his  direct  contributions  to  Logic  and  Political  Econ- 
omy. Xo  writer,  it  is  probable,  was  ever  more  read 
between  the  lines  :  his  authoritative  force  of  intellect, 
his  perfect  mastery  of  his  materials,  his  singular  neat- 
ness of  exposition,  marked  him  as  a  great  power  in  the 
speculative  world  :  but,  as  usual,  the  real  interest  felt 
was  not  less  scientific  than  moral, — as  to  the  direction 
m  which  that  j)owcr  would  work.  A  certain  air  of 
suppression  occasionally  assumed  by  Mr.  Mill  himself, 
with  hints  for  a  revision  of  the  existing  narrow-minded 
morals,  has  increased  this  tendency.  This  suppressive 
air  is  the  greatest  fault  we  find  in  him  ;  it  is  his  only 
illegitimate  instrument  of  power,  for  it  weighs  chiefly 
oji  the  weak  :  and  the  shade  which  it  passes  across  his 
face  is  sometimes  so  stronir  as  almost  to  darken  the 


JOHN    STUAT.T    MILL.  119 

])1iiIosoplici-  into  the  iny?tugon^ue.  Is  the  blame  of  tins 
•  leiiiciinor  thrown  on  the  tyrann}'  of  society?  If  thiit 
be  all,  tyranny  is  better  broken  in  a  hind  like  ours  by 
conscientious  defiance  than  by  ambiguous  submission 
and  aro'iunentativc  complaint.  It  seems  hardly  becom- 
ing in  an  author  who  has  attained  the  highest  rank  of 
influence  in  the  intellectual  councils  of  his  time,  to  write 
as  if  there  were  something  behind  which,  as  a  veracious 
thinker  on  human  life  and  morals,  he  would  like  to  sav, 
but  which,  under  the  pitiable  bigotry  of  society,  must 
be  reserved  for  an  age  that  docs  not  persecute  its  bene- 
factors. Sucli  a  demeanor  ap[)ears  to  us  the  counter- 
part, among  s[)eculative  men,  of  dogmatic  self-assin-ance 
among  religious  professors  :  and  Pharisaism  hurts  the 
humanities  and  the  humilities  as  much  in  the  "  Wiser 
than  thou,"  as  in  the  ^'Holier  than  thou,"  Nor  is  the 
effect  of  this  manner  better  than  its  princii)le.  Weak 
minds,  as  Mr.  ]Mill  observes  of  the  theologians,  are  apt 
to  begin  wondering  :  and  a  manner  so  provocative  of 
curiosity  sets  them  thinking  what  these  terrible  secrets 
can  be.  Such  questions  are  sure  to  find  answerers  ; 
and  among  the  busy-bodies  and  hangers-on  of  a  school 
u  certain  cant  of  initiation  arises  which  fosters  everv 
vice  of  the  sectarian  life.  We  have  not  Mr.  ^Mill's 
positive  faith  in  Discussion  as  an  instrument  for  the 
determination  of  moral  controversies.  But-  still  less 
have  we  faith  in  lieserve  and  supercilious  avoidance. 

In  taking  leave  of  our  author,  we  re{)cat  our  grateful 
acknowledgment  for  most  important  light  and  aid 
from  him  over  the  whole  middle  g)"ouud  of  science 
which  he  has  chiefly  made  his  own.  Thousands  of 
students,  beyond  the  circle  of  Avhich  he  is  the  centre, 


120  JOHN    STUAUT    .MILL. 

arc  indebted  to  liiin  for  the  power  to  tliink  more  closely 
and  dearly,  and  the  resolve  to  reach  the  ultimate 
<n*ound  of  bcliefjj  too  lightly  hold.  His  writings  are 
far  more  than  the  culminating  expression  of  a  particular 
school  of  thought :  they  are  a  permanent  contribution 
to  the  intellectual  training  of  the  English  mind.  Could 
the  haunting  problems  of  Being  be  silenced,  Avhilst  we 
only  listened  to  the  flow  and  caugiit  the  rhythm  of 
Phenomena ;  could  we  be  content  to  hear  it  said  that 
tiicy  are  inaccessible  to  the  human  faculties,  and  not 
think  in  reply  that  nevertheless  the  human  faculties 
maybe  not  inaccessible  to  them, — no  more  effectual 
guidance  need  be  demanded.  But  so  long  as  the  laws 
of  "  co-existenct  and  succession  "  afford  no  refuge  from 
the  sense  and  leed  of  a  dee[)e;'  beauty,  right,  and 
good,  the  most  searching  and  exhaustive  of  scientific 
intellects  will  not  persuade  men  to  forego  the  hope 
of  some  higher  philosophic  genius  to  answer  instead 
of  dash  their  aspirations. 


121 


N  A  T  U  R  E     A  N  D     G  0  D.* 


The  two  brothers  Humboldt,  it  is  well  known,  ai)ply' 
ing  eacli  a  tine  genius  to  different  pursuits,  diverged  in 
their  convictions  with  regard  to  tiic  supreme  objects  of 
lliouglit  and  faith.  WilUani,  in  sympathy  with  the  ]ife 
of  iuuuanity,  studious  of  its  expression  in  huiguage,  in 
jiferature,  in  hxw,  and  in  all  the  vicissitudes  of  civiliza- 
tion, never  lost  the  traces  of  a  Divine  (lovernment  over 
the  world,  and  even  in  the  superstitions  of  mankind 
saw  only  a  barbarous  jargon  attempting  an  eternal 
truth.      Alexander,   at  home  in  the  great  Kosmos,  fa- 

*  Tlie  present  Relations  of  Science  to  Reli;,non:  a  Sermon  pre.icliod  on 
Act  Sunday,  July  1,  1S60,  Ijcfore  the  University  of  Oxford,  during;  tlic  Meet- 
inj;-  of  tiie  Hritisli  Association.  By  Rev.  Frederick  Tein[)Ie,  D.I).,  Head-.Mas- 
l<.'r  of  Kujrliy  School.     Oxord  and  London,  l^CO. 

The  Correlation  of  Piiysical  Forces.  By  W.  R.  Grove,  JM.A.,  F.R.S. 
Second  Kdition.     London,  18.50. 

The  ^Intnal  Relations  of  the  Vital  and  Physical  Forces.  By  Dr.  Caipen- 
ler  (I'iiilosopliical  Transactions,  1850). 

I'rinciples  of  ilinnan  Physiolofjy.    By  Dr.  Carpenter.    Fiftli  lulition,  185.5. 

The  Order  of  Nature,  considered  in  reference  to  the  Claims  of  Revelation. 
By  Rev.  HadMi  Powell,  M.A..  F.R.S.,  &c.     London,  1859. 

the  Infellectnal  Development  of  Em-ope,  considered  with  reference  to 
(he  Views  of  .Mr.  Darwnj  and  others,  that  the  Progression  of  Organisms  is 
dftermined  hy  Law.  By  Prof.  Draper,  M.D.,  of  New  York.  Coinnuinicated 
t^»  the  Zoi  loL;ical  Section  of  the  British  .\s-ociation  (.Atlienannn,  .July  14, 18t',:>). 

Glimpses  of  the  Heaven  that  lies  about  us.  By  T.  E.  Poynting.  Lon- 
don, UfiO. 

Nationa.  Review,  October,  1860 


122  NATURE   .VXD   GOD. 

miliar  with  the  ways  of  Xaturc  from  her  rude  Titanic 
Avorkshoj).s  to  Iier  finest  hnrinonics  of  hfo,  siijjnificantly 
declared  himself  to  he  of  "  the  reliijion  of  all  men  of 
science."  That  his  implic:«tion  of  "all  men  of  science" 
in  his  own  ncfjativc  doctrine  is  far  too  swee])in;j:,  —  not 
less  so,  indeed,  than  the  Bishop  of  Oxford's  connter- 
part  assertion  that  "no  men  lifreat  in  science  favor  Mr. 
Darwin's  hypothesis," — is  evident  not  only  from  the 
older  exami)lcs  of  Xe\vt-.)n,  Boyle,  Ciivier,  and  Davy, 
hilt  from  many  of  the  newest  representative  names. 
Oersted,  Ilerschel,  Owen,  Faraday.  Still,  there  is 
ample  evidence  of  a  certain  general  tendency  in  Natu- 
ral Science  to  foster  habits  of  thought  cml)arrassin<^  to 
religious  conviction.  On  a  first  view  it  certainly  ap- 
pears strange  that  the  men  most  conversant  with  the 
Order  of  the  visible  universe  sht)uld  soonest  suspect  it 
empty  of  directing  Mind;  that  they  should  lose  their 
first  faitli  on  the  very  field  where  natural  theology 
irlcans  its  choicest  instances  of  desiu'ii  :  and  on  the 
other  hand,  that  humanistic,  moral,  and  historical  stud- 
ies, —  which  first  open  the  terrible  proi)lems  of  suifer- 
ing  and  guilt  and  contain  all  the  reputed  provocatives 
of  denial  and  desj)air,  —  should  confirm  and  enlarge;, 
rather  than  disturb,  the  prepossessions  of  natural  |»iety. 
The  result,  however,  ceases  to  be  paradoxical,  on  closer 
inspection  of  the  relation  between  })hysical  and  moral 
knowledge. 

The  jealousy  between  natural  science  and  religion  is 
of  very  long  st.inding.  From  the  time  of  Anaxagoras 
onward,  every  attempt  to  explain  by  secondary  causes 
phenomena  previously  unreduced  has  been  regarded  as 
an  audacious  Avresting  of  some  province  from  the  gods. 


NATU Ui:    AND    GOD.  123 

And,  on  the  otlier  hand,  as  early  at  least  as  Epicurus, 
the  investigators  of  nature  began  to  tolerate  tiie  refer- 
ence to  Divine  agency  merely  as  a  provi^^ional  neces- 
sity, to  be  superseded  in  each  field  as  it  was  explored, 
and  serving  only  as  a  decent  disguise  for  our  residuary 
ignorance.  The  dialogue  of  the  De  JS^atiird  Deoriun 
exhibits,  in  the  persons  of  Balbus  and  Velleius,  tlie 
same  rivalry  between  Theology  and  Physics  which  often 
animates  the  Section-rooms  of  the  British  Association. 
The  antiquity  of  the  controversy  attests  its  deep-seated 
origin,  in  causes  beyond  the  range  of  the  Biblical  rec- 
ords and  the  peculiarities  of  the  Christian  doctrine. 
The  Scriptures,  in  the  presence  of  the  Baconian  logic, 
have  merely  encountered  the  inevitable  fate  of  any  in- 
flexible litera  scripta  existing  side  by  side  with  ever- 
widening  inductions.  A  consecrated  theory  of  the 
phenomenal  universe,  embodying  the  ])erishable  imagi- 
nations of  one  age  or  peo[>le,  necessarily  blends  with 
every  religion,  however  charged  with  essential  and 
inspired  truth  ;  and,  as  necessarily,  comes  to  be  dis- 
credited as  discovery  extends,  till  it  has  to  be  discharged 
from  its  spiritual  receptacle.  The  series  of  questions 
on  which  the  conflict  has  been  renewed  in  modern  times 
between  the  closed  "  Word  "  and  the  opening  Works  of 
(rod  is  as  long  as  the  chain  of  inductive  sciences  them- 
selves; and  the  result  has  been  invariable,  —  the  pa- 
tience of  nature  overc(»ming  the  authoritative  plea  of 
miracle.  Copernicus,  in  spite  of  the  hierarchy,  has 
cried  with  more  effect  than  Joshua,  "Sun,  stand  thou 
still  !  "  Shi[)s  are  daily  chartered  to  those  Anti[)odes 
■which  Lactantius  declared  to  be  im[)()s.sible,  and  Augus- 
tine  unscriptural,   and   Boniface  of  Metz,   beyond  the 


124  NATUl.'K    AM)    0()D. 

lutitudc  of  salvation.  VVitclicratt,  so  Ion  i;  prc>.;crvc'(l  l»y 
the  Mosaic  Law  anion;^  oiu*  list  of  crimes,  has  clisa[)- 
peareil  from  every  Enr«>i)ean  code  ;  and  demoniaeal  pos« 
session  in  mania  and  epilepsy,  though  in  the  Gospels 
•iivinij:  form  to  the  miracles  and  evidence  to  the  Mes- 
siahship  of  Christ,  has  been  unable  to  hold  its  oronnd 
against  the  exorcism  of  the  Co!le_i^e  of  l*h}sicians. 
The  eonnnon  parentai;e  of  the  human  race,  already 
rendered  distasteful  by  PrichaixI's  suggested  probability 
of  a  black  Adam  and  Eve,  has  become  an  oj>cn  (piestion 
with  the  advance  of  ethnology,  notwithstanding  the 
absolute  dependence  upon  it  of  the  whole  scheme  of 
ecclesiastic  theology.  The  tower  of  Babel  faded  into  a 
myth,  as  the  affinity  of  languages  was  better  under- 
stood. Egypt,  so  long  measured  by  the  patriarchal 
chronology,  and  cowed  by  the  song  of  Moa.es  and 
]Miriam,  has  at  last  taken  a  strange  revenge  upon  her 
iiigitives,  by  discrediting  their,  traditions,  and  exposing 
the  proofs  of  her  dynasties  and  arts  beyon<l  the  ^  erge  of 
their  Flood,  nay,  j)rior  to  their  Eden.  The  terrestrial 
cosmogony  of  Genesis,  in  spite  of  all  the  clamps  and 
holdfasts  of  a  perverted  exegesis,  h:is  long  b(;en  knocked 
to  pieces  by  the  geologic  hammer.  And  now  it  would 
seem  doubtful  whether,  even  with  regard  to  the  spcciHo 
types  of  organized  beings,  the  itlca  of  sudden  creati  >n 
may  not  have  to  be  altogether  relinquished  in  favor  of 
a  principle  of  gradual  modification. 

One  by  one,  these  questions  may  be  determined  and 
pass  away.  And  if  this  were  all,  a  mere  glance  at  the 
past  results,  without  appealing  to  the  supreme  security 
of  truth,  ought  to  tranquillize  all  religious  alarms  :  for 
U'ho  that  has  in  him  anv  intelligent  image  of  our  mod- 


XAfUIM-:    AM)    GOD.  12c 

Pin  Kosmos  would  tliink  it  "  for  the  glory  of  God  "  to 
li:ive  buck  again  the  little  three-storied,  or  seven-storied 
titructurc,  in  which  the  Hebrew  and  early  Christian 
imagination  found  room  and  time  for  every  thing, 
earthly,  devilish,  and  Divine?  Every  thing  has  turned 
out  grander  in  the  reality  than  in  the  preconception  : 
the  heavens  that  open  to  the  eye  of  a  lierscliel,  the 
geologic  time  whose  measures  direct  the  calculations 
of  a  Lyell,  the  chain  of  living  existence  whose  links  are 
in  the  mind  of  a  Hooker,  Agassiz,  or  Darwin,  infinitely 
transcend  tlie  universe  of  Psalmist's  song  and  Apoca- 
lyptic vision.  However  obstinate  the  battle  may  seem 
to  be  on  each  of  these  })articular  points,  as  it  arises,  the 
combatants  again  and  again  fight  out  a  i)eace  at  last : 
—  why,  indeed,  should  the  theologian  object  to  find  the 
scene  of  Divine  Agency  larger,  older,  more  teeming 
with  life,  than  he  had  thought?  But  all  these  collisions 
liave  a  significance  far  dee[)er  than  the  s[)ecial  topic  of 
each  occasion.  They  are  signs  of  a  more  fiuidamcjital 
confiict,  whose  essence  remains  when  they  are  set  at 
rest ;  —  of  a  real,  ultimate,  ii-reducible  diffei-ofce,  easily 
mistaken  for  co)itradiction,  between  the  whole  scien- 
tific and  the  whole  religious  mode  of  approaching  and 
viewing  the  external  world. 

Christianity,  engaged  in  establishing  inunediate  rela- 
tions between  Man  and  (lod,  takes  litth;  notice  of  Na- 
ture ;  which  might  in  fact  be  absent  altogether  without 
material  injury  to  a  scheme  j)ei"vadingly  ,s?(y)','/'natural  ; 
and  which  was  actually  to  vanish  in  (trdcr  to  the  final 
realization  of  the  Divine  purpose  for  Humanity.  "Jlie 
defining  lines  of  the  religion  run,  so  to  s[)e;d-c,  overhead 
of  Nature,  and  pass  direct  from  spirit  to  Spirit :  Given, 


126  NATUIJE    AND   GOD. 

the  luiinnn  consciousness  of  sinful  need  and  the  sigh  for 
holy  life  ;  given  also,  the  Divine  response  of  forgive- 
ness, rescue,  and  communion  ;  and  the  essential  idea  is 
constituted.  Tlie  circle  of  thought  aiid  feeling  which  it 
collects  around  it  has  only  a  negative  relation  to  tiie 
outward  Kosmos,  and  finds  Nature  rather  in  its  way. 
Still,  when  compelled  to  look  the  visible  world  in  the 
face  and  recognize  it  as  the  depository  of  some  perma- 
nent meaning,  Christianity,  like  all  pure  and  spiritual 
Theism,  can  only  regard  the  universe  as  the  manifesta- 
tion and  abode  of  a  Free  ^lind,  like  our  own  ;  embody- 
ing His  j)ersonal  thought  in  its  adjustments,  realizing 
His  own  ideal  in  its  phenomena,  just  as  we  express  our 
inner  faculty  and  character  through  the  natural  lan- 
guage of  an  external  life.  In  this  view,  we  interpret 
Nature  by  Humanity  ;  we  find  the  key  to  her  aspects  in 
such  ])urposes  and  affections  as  our  own  consciousness 
enables  us  to  conceive ;  we  look  everywhere  for  physi- 
cal signals  of  an  ever-living  Will ;  and  deci{)her  the 
universe  as  the  autobiography  of  an  Infinite  Sj)irit, 
repeating  itself  in  miniature  witiiin  om*  Finite  8[)irir. 
The  grandest  natural  airencies  arc  thus  but  servitors  of 
a  grander  than  themselves  :  "  the  winds  are  His  messen- 
gers ;  and  flaming  fire,  His  minister."  Using  Nature 
as  his  organ.  He  transcends  it :  the  act  in  which  he 
does  so  is  the  exercise  of  his  own  Free  Volition,  ren- 
dering determinate  what  was  indeterminate  before  :  it  is 
thus  the  characteristic  of  such  act  to  be  sitpernahodl : 
and  Man,  so  far  as  he  shares  a  like  prerogative,  occu- 
pies a  like  position  ;  standing  to  that  extent  outside  and 
above  the  realm  of  necessary  law,  and  endowing  with 
existence  either  side  of  an  alternative  possibility.      At 


NATUKE    AND    GOD.  127 

both  ends  tliercft)re  of  tiie  scheme  of  Kosmical  oivler, 
are  beings  that  go  beyond  it :  all  that  is  natural  lies 
enclosed  within  the  supernatural,  and  is  the  medium 
through  which  the  Divine  mind  descends  into  ex[)res- 
sion  and  the  Human  ascends  into  interpreting  recogni- 
tion. The  effect  of  this  faith  upon  the  study  of  objects 
and  phenomena  is  obvious  enough.  They  will  be  inter- 
esting, not  on  their  own  account,  but  as  signs  of  the 
Thought  which  issues  them  :  in  quest  of  this,  conjec- 
ture will  turn  inwards  ;  and,  taking  counsel  from  the 
liigher  moi-al  consciousness,  will  come  back  to  them  and 
see  meanings  and  motives  they  do  not  contain.  The 
observer  will  be  in  danger  of  converting  the  universe 
into  the  mere  rcHection  of  his  own  conscience  and  emo- 
tions ;  of  ovcilooking  its  calm  neutralities  ;  of  reading 
some  special  smile  in  its  sunshine  and  judgment  in  its 
storms  ;  or,  when  experience  and  culture  have  rendered 
these  simple  interpretations  no  longer  possible,  of  fol- 
lowing some  more  elaborate,  but  still  [)rcmature,  clue 
of  design,  and  losing  himself  in  a  labyrinth  of  miscon- 
strued relations.  The  disposition  of  the  human  soul  to 
seek  for  its  own  prototype  and  start  at  its  own  shadow 
in  the  outward  uni\crse,  is  a  solemn  and  significant 
fact.  But  it  can  no  uiore  do  the  work  of  natural 
knowledge,  than  the  inspection  of  a  foreign  people's 
expressive  looks  and  gestiu'os  can  supersede  the  patient 
study  of  their  language,  —  a  language  formed  by  the 
working  of  the  same  feelinys  and  ideas,  yet  not  intelli- 
gible through  mere  sym}):ithy  with  these.  At  a  ni)- 
nient  when  our  thirlceii  inches  of  sununer  rain  arc 
episcnj)ally  explained,  in  diocese  after  diocese,  as  a 
punislnacnt   of  some    unspecilied    sin,    and    are    abou' 


12S  NATUUE    AM)   GOD. 

to  be  stopped  by  deprecation,  we  cm  scircely  wonder 
at  the  well-known  contempt  with  which  both  Bacon 
and  Spinoza  have  visited  the  applied  doctrine  of  Final 
causes. 

Science,  on  the  other  hand,  brings  to  tlic  scrntiny  of 
Nature  quite  a  different  order  of  faculty  and  feeling. 
It  lays  aside,  as  intrusive,  the  inner  moral  consciousness 
with  its  postulates  and  beliefs ;  and  enteis  the  field 
under  piu'c  guidance  of  the  Perceptive  and  Comparing 
j)owers.  It  might  acconi[)lish  the  whole  of  its  avowed 
aim,  with  less  embarrassed  speed,  if  the  mind  could 
actually  be  i^educed  to  an  unmoral,  im[)ersonal  mechan- 
ism of  intellectual  elaboration  ;  transfusing  nothing  of 
itself  into  the  imiverse,  but  logically  working  up,  in 
crystalline  arrangements  of  resemblance,  co-existence 
and  succession,  the  [)henomena  given  fi"om  without. 
'i'i.!s  (I  jyvloft  limitation  of  its  instruments  involves  a 
corresponding  limitation  of  its  field  ;  precluding  it  from 
the  whole  area  of  free  causality,  and  enclosing  it 
within  the  range  of  phenomena  now  determinate.  For 
the  same  reason,  the  order  of  its  advance  through  this 
field  must  be  ever  one  and  the  same,  —  from  sensible 
particulars  to  related  groups,  from  minor  to  major  laws, 
from  classifications  with  a  single  base  to  others  that  take 
account  of  many.  Beginning  with  the  rudest  raw  mate- 
rials of  observation,  —  the  nomcnnv  noo^  ']['('<■■,;  —  it  cai-ries 
up  the  rules  they  yield  into  the  next  rank  of  things, 
taking  on  some  refined  addition  to  make  the  exj)ression 
ade(piate  to  the  case;  and  so  on,  till  the  formula  which 
shaped  itself  at  the  bottom  of  nature  finds  its  way  up- 
ward to  the  top,  and  humanity  itself,  as  a  scientific 
object,  seems  to  come  out  as  a  mere  culminating  devel' 


NATUKE    AND    GOD.  129 

opment  of  the  earliest  and  lowest  term.  The  hierarchy 
of  laws  which  Science  constructs  accomplishes  the 
grand  end,  of  enablini"-  her  to  predict  the  course  of 
nature.  In  part,  they  are  direct  rules  of  eni[)irical 
and  concrete  succession,  siiuply  describing  the  order  of 
bodies  and  their  appearances,  as  in  Plane  Astronomy. 
In  part,  as  in  Pliysical  Astronomy,  they  are  rules  com- 
bined out  of  tiie  decomposed  conditions  of  analyzed 
phenomena.  In  either  case,  the  power  of  prediction  is 
attained  ;  and  equally  so,  whether  the  rules  present  the 
ipsiissinia  vestif/ia  of  nature,  as  we  believe  to  be 
the  case  with  Kepler's  laws,  or  whether,  by  some  device 
of  reduction  and  substitution,  they  furnish  mere  e({uiva- 
lent  elements,  tantamount,  in  all  their  combinations,  to 
the  natural  facts.  The  Ptolemaic  forekn;)\vledge  of 
eclij)scs  was  manifestly  due  to  artifices  of  tiiis  latter 
kind  :  and  we  incline,  wirh  Adam  Smith,  to  refer  even 
the  Celestial  Dynamics  of  Xewton  to  the  same  head. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  the  mere  ability  to  reason  out  future 
individual  j)henomena  by  strict  deduction  from  some 
equation  of  abstract  conditions  im[)resses  us  with  a  sense 
of  Fate  :  the  logical  cogency  of  the  inferential  steps  is 
mistaken  for  a  material  nexus  among  the  objective 
facts  :  and,  when  taken  in  conjunction  with  the  imi- 
formity  revealed  by  inductive  observation,  fixes  upon 
the  scientific  fancy  that  nightmare  of  Univer5.al  Neces- 
sity, beneath  which  every  higher  faitli  either  is  sn[)- 
pressed  or  cries  out  in  agony.  In  a  univer:<e  thus 
regarded  there  is  no  room  for  any  thing  injt  (l<!termiii- 
ate  phenomena  :  and  the  semblance  of  somewhat  else  in 
man  is  readily  explained  away,  by  simply  tlu'owing  him 

y 


130  NATURE    AND   GOO. 

in  among  natural  objects,  studying  him  exclusively  from 
the  outside,  and  disparaging  the  possibility  or  the  valid- 
ity of  self-knowledge.  Had  he  ever  so  free  a  causal 
power,  its  phenomena  also,  once  summoned  to  exist, 
must  be  determinate,  must  vary  with  the  scope  and 
weight  of  his  limiting  conditions,  must  be  no  less  open 
than  any  other  facts  to  the  statist's  method  of  averages  : 
80  that  you  have  only  to  shut  the  door  on  the  inner  con- 
sciousness, and  restrict  us  to  the  gate  where  the  facts 
come  out,  in  order  to  lose  witness  of  the  supernatural 
in  man,  and  draw  him  also  within  the  meshes  of  inev- 
itable Law. 

The  radical  antithesis,  then,  between  Religion  and 
Science  consists  in  this  :  —  that  the  former,  proceeding 
on  the  data  of  our  Voluntary  and  Moral  faculties,  car- 
ries a  supernatural  interpretation  through  the  universe, 
and  sees  in  nature  the  expression  of  aftbctions  and  will 
like  our  own ;  while  the  latter,  proceeding  on  the  data 
of  our  Perceptive  and  Generalizing  faculties,  discovers 
uniformities  of  phenomena,  and  accepts  the  conception 
of  necessary  law  not  only  as  the  key  to  Nature,  but  as 
exhaustive  and  ultimate.  Let  the  maxims  which  are 
self-evident  to  either  of  these  sets  of  faculties  be  ap- 
])licd  to  the  sphere  of  the  other,  and  the  effect  can  only 
be  to  discredit  and  dissipate  the  objects  in  that  sphere. 
If  every  phenomenon  is  the  momentary  expression  of 
free  volition,  —  if  the  supernatural  reigns  everywliere 
and  alone,  then  is  nature  an  illusion,  and  the  demarca- 
tion is  erased  between  Primary  causality  and  Secondary 
law.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  "we  know  nothing  but 
phenomena," — if  our  cognitive  endowments  are  ex- 
hausted upon  "resemblances,   co-existences,  and  sue- 


NATURE    AND    GOD.  131 

cessions,  —  tlicn  is  the  Order  of  nature  our  only 
reality,  —  its  Causality,  our  dream;  and  of"  God, — - 
wlio  is  not  "a  phenomenon," — we  cannot  rationally 
speak. 

The  most  obvious  way  of  escape  from  this  dilemma 
is,  to  restrain  the  pretensions  of  each  class  of  faculties 
within  its  own  province,  and  protest  against  its  am- 
bition of  universal  empire.  Let  the  moral  and  spiritual 
intimations,  it  is  said,  have  their  own  authority  and  sus- 
tain their  own  beliefs;  they  need  not  be  meddled  with, 
so  long  fis  they  stop  at  home  and  do  not  overrun  the 
Kosmos  with  their  theology.  Let  the  observing  and 
inductive  tendency  push  on,  —  the  mensurative  and  de- 
ductive calculus  work  out  its  results;  —  they  can  but 
give  us  new  truth,  so  long  as  they  deal  only  with  finite 
things,  and  do  not  trespass  upon  the  sphere  of  Per- 
sonality and  Lifinitude.  This  is  the  tone  jn-evailingly 
assumed  both  by  liberal  divines  and  by  reverential  or 
cautious  men  of  science  ;  and  it  suffices  to  establish  an 
armistice  between  them  which  is  at  least  an  agreeable 
change  upon  open  war.  To  this  compromise  Bacon 
habitually  resorted  :  and  quite  in  the  sense  of  his  ])hi- 
losophy  it  is  found  pervading  the  writings  of  the  late 
lamented  Baden  Powell.  To  us,  we  confess,  it  is  })ro- 
foundly  unsatisfactory  :  especially  when  the  two  sepa- 
rated provinces  are  treated,  not  as  two  inde[)cndent  and 
incommensm-ate  kinds  of  knowledge  or  kinds  of  fiith, 
but  the  one  as  knowledge,  and  the  other  as  faith.  Mr. 
Baden  Powell  intemled,  we  are  sure,  to  be  not  less  li)y:d 
to  his  Christian  Theism  than  he  was  to  his  Indiu.'tive 
phil()so[)hy.  When,  however,  after  volumes  of  proof 
that  the  universe  discloses  nothin<>-  but  immutable  la\y 


132  NATURE   AND   OOI). 

and  material  development,  so  orderly  indeed  as  to  be- 
speak Thought,  but  so  inexor;d)le  as  to  be  silent  of 
Charaetcr,  after  treating  the  supernatural  as  intrinsically 
incognizable,  and  the  moral  and  spiritual  as  entirely  out 
of  relation  to  the  rational  faculty,  he  briefly  relegates  us 
to  "faith"  for  oiu'  grounds  of  religious  conviction,  we 
certainly  feel  that  the  door  is  ratJier  rudely  slamrnel  in 
the  face  of  our  inquiry,  and  that  we  are  turned  out 
of  the  select  society  of  the  phihjsophers  who  know, 
to  take  our  place  with  the  plebs  who  believe.  It  is 
utterly  destructive  of  the  equipoise  of  authority  between 
the  two  sjjheres,  to  characterize  tiie  one  as  "knowl- 
edge," which  involves  objective  certainty,  the  other  as 
"faith,"  which  goes  no  further  than  subjective  assu- 
rance. Tiiis  it  was  which  exposed  Bacon  to  the  false, 
but  not  unnatural,  sus[»icion  of  Atheism  :  and  the  pain- 
ful negative  impression  of  unsolved  problems,  so  gene- 
rally left  on  ]Mr.  Baden  Powell's  readers,  is  maiidy  due 
to  the  same  crudeness  of  distinction.  The  truth  is,  he 
had  effectually  thought  out  the  one  side  of  the  questi:)u 
which  was  congenial  with  his  intellectual  habits  and  pur- 
suits, without  gaining  any  corresponding  command  of 
the  other:  and  his  imagination,  left  alone  witli  the 
astounding  revelations  of  modern  science,  was  not  sim- 
])ly  possessed  but  overpowered  by  the  conception  of  all- 
comi)rehending  and  necessary  laws.  A  more  balanced 
reflection  would  at  once  have  shown  the  futility  of  the 
distinction  he  wished  to  establish.  If  by  ^' faith"  he 
meant  reliance  on  a  principle  as  self-evident,  i.e.  rec- 
ommended only  by  its  psychological  necessity  ;  —  if  by 
"knowledge,'^  distinguished  from  faith,  he  nieant  ar 
acquired  a})prehension  of  truth  on  evidence  other  than 


NATUItE    AND    GOD.  133 

its  own  ;  *  then  there  is  just  .is  mucli  "  f;iith  "  concerned 
in  Science  as  in  Religion;  iind  just  as  much  "knowl- 
edge" in  Keligion  as  in  Science.  Not  a  step  could 
Geometry,  Arithmetic,  Physics,  advance  without  as- 
suiiij)tions  respecting  Si)ace,  Time,  external  Substance, 
which  are  no  less  pure  and  absolute  gifts  of  our  pyscho- 
logical  constitution  than  the  moral  assurance  of  our 
responsibility.  And  in  Ethics,  the  propositions  —  that 
it  is  wrong  to  pvniish  an  unconscious  act,  that  extreme 
temptation  mitigates  guilt ;  —  in  lleligion,  that  the  hyi)0- 
crite's  prayer  is  una\aiHng,  that  to  the  pure  in  heart  God 
is  best  revealed,  —  arc  knotc/i  not  less  certainly  than  in 
Science  the  place  of  the  Xcnth  from  the  pointing  of  the 
needle,  or  the  recent  birth  of  an  animal  from  the 
mother's  milk. 

Even  aj)art  from  the  inexact  and  unequal  balance 
maintained  by  Mr.  Baden  Powell  between  the  rival 
claims,  a  mere  compromise  founded  on  a  division  of 
territory  is  intrinsically  impracticable.  The  savant 
cannot  hel[)  advancing  his  lines  of  thought  into  human 
and  moral  relations  and  esteeming  them  amenable  to 
him.  The  theologian  cannot  helj)  applying  his  faith 
to  the  imiverse,  for  the  supernatural  is  conceivable  only 
in  relation  to  the  natural,  and  the  transcendency  of  God 
iint^Ives  the  sul)ordiiiation  of  the  world.  And  if  a  man 
be  at  once  savant  and  theologian,  how  is  he  to  manage 
the  partition  of  his  creed?  One  side  of  him  deny- 
ing all  knowledge  but  of  necessity  and  nature,  the  oth.er 


*  We  do  not  propose  these  as  sjitisfactor/  cU'tiiiitions  of  "  faith "  and 
"kn  )wli.'dji„': "  but  tlie  terms,  if  treati'd  as  nnitually-cxcliisive  opposites, 
appear  tu  admit  of  no  otiiers.  An<l  tliis  is  tiie  easo  with  whicli  wo  iiave  to 
deal. 


134  NATURE   AND   GOD. 

believing  only  freedom  and  Ciod,  is  lie  to  take  turn  and 
turn  about  with  tlic  "  Yes  "  and  "  No,"  and  care  nothing 
about  their  di:?cord  or  their  harmony?  Whether  as  a 
logical  invention  or  as  a  work  of"  art,  we  cannot  admire 
this  composite  figure,  hnW  philosophe,  half  saint ;  on 
the  left  of  the  mid-line,  a  Diderot,  on  the  I'ight,  a  Fene- 
lon.  No  earnest  mind  can  endur(!  a  life  of  double 
consciousness,  or  excuse  it  on  the  pedantic  plea  of  did'er- 
ent  faculties.  Many  or  few,  their  testimony  nnist  all 
converge  on  the  unity  of  truth,  and  is  falsely  construed 
till  it  does  so.  If  the  report  of  "  the  moral  an<l  spiri- 
tual powers  "  be  trustworthy,  —  if  there  lives  an  Eter- 
nal Will  immanent  in  the  universe  and  communing  with 
ourselves,  it  is  impossible  to  avoid  the  inquiry,  in  wliat 
relation  this  Primary  and  Voluntary  Cause  subsists  to 
those  Secondary  Laws  of  phenomena  which  it  i^  the 
business  of  Science  to  define.  How  are  the  seemingly 
contrary  beliefs  forced  on  us  by  our  outward  and  by 
our  inward  apprehension  to  adjust  themselves  in  recon- 
cihid  co-existence  ? 

Is  there  any  middle  term  which  can  aid  the  mutual 
understanding  between  the  Religious  and  the  Scientific 
view  of  nature? — any  fundamental  thought  common 
to  both,  or  passing  as  an  essential  from  the  one  to  the 
other?  We  think  there  is,  viz.  the  idea  of  Force. 
That  this  really  is  an  intermediate  conception,  more 
than  physical,  less  than  theological,  will  probably  be 
conceded  on  both  sides.  It  is  less  than  theological : 
for,  in  league  with  the  epithet  ''material,"  it  can  quit 
the  Theist,  and  take  service  with  the  Atheist.  It  is 
more  than  physical  :  for  the  term  certainly  goes  beyond 
the  meaning  of  the  word  "  Law ;  "  it  expresses  neither 


NATURE    AXD    GOD.  135 

any  observaljlo  ]>henonienon,  nor  any  mere  otler  of 
co-existence  or  succession  among  phenomena.  To  our 
objective  Perception  and  Comparison  nothing  is  given 
but  movements  or  changes  ;  to  our  Inductive  Generali- 
zation, nothing  but  the  sifting  and  grouping  of  these 
in  space  and  time.  Such  mental  aggregates  or  series 
of  phenomena  complete  what  we  mean  by  a  Law  ;  but 
are  only  suggestive  nigns  of  a  Force  in  itself  imper- 
ceptible. As  defined  by  Mr.  Grove,  tlie  word  denotes 
''  that  active  principle  inseparable  from  matter  which 
induces  its  various  changes"  (p.  14).  So  well  aware, 
indeed,  are  the  more  rigorous  Inductive  logicians  (as 
Comte  and  Mill)  of  the  hyperphysical  character  of  this 
notion,  that  they  woidd  expel  it  as  a  trespasser  on  the 
Baconian  domain  ;  or,  if  it  stays,  strip  it  of  its  native 
significance,  in  order  to  reduce  it  to  their  service.  Let 
any  one,  however,  oidy  imagine  the  sort  of  jargon  into 
which,  agreeably  to  tliis  advice,  our  language  of  Dy- 
namics would  have  to  be  translated ;  let  him  try  to 
express  the  several  intensities  in  terms  of  Time-succes- 
sion, and  he  will  need  no  other  proof  of  the  utter  help- 
lessness of  physics  without  this  hyperphysical  idea. 
Mr.  Grove  most  justly  remarks:  "  Tiie  word  'Force,' 
and  the  idea  it  aims  at  expressing,  might  indeed  be 
ol)jected  to  by  the  purely  physical  philosopher  as  repre- 
senting a  subtle  mental  conception,  and  not  a  sensuous 
l)orception  or  phenomenon.  To  avoid  its  use,  however, 
if  open  to  no  other  oijjection,  would  be  so  far  a  dej)art- 
urc  from  recognized  views  as  to  render  language  scarcely 
intelligible"  (p.  12). 

It  is  admitted,  then,  that  we  have  here  a   physical 
postulate;  indispensable  to  the  interpretation  of  nature, 


13(^  NATUUE   AND    GOD. 

yet  uot  physically  known.  Its  objective  reality  is  guar- 
anteed, the  suspicion  ot"  its  being  a  "mental  fignient" 
is  excluded,  by  the  same  security  on  which  we  hold  the 
infinitude  of  Space  and  the  impossible  co-existence  of 
difierent  Times,  viz.  its  subjet^-tive  necessity  as  a  con- 
diti:>n  for  conceiving  objects  and  [)henomena  at  all :  — 
a  necessity,  we  must  add,  evident  in  the  habitual  lan- 
guage, not  only  of  tiiose  who  consciou-sly  jicknowledge 
it,  but  equally  of  those  who,  like  the  Positivists,  affect 
to  believe  in  a  ytviot-i  of  things  without  a  6\'m///v-  Being 
thus,  at  the  same  time,  real  in  its  existence,  and  ideal 
in  its  cognition.  Force  admits  of  being  investigated 
both  [)hy»ically  and  metaphysically  :  and  take  it  up  in 
which  aspect  you  will,  the  results  are  remarkable  and 
concurrent. 

The  tendency  of  natural  science  in  its  earlier  stages 
is  to  establish  a  plurality  of  "  Forces."  Each  separate 
family  of  phenomena  throws  back  its  distinctive  charac- 
teristics on  the  dynamic  source  to  which  they  are  re- 
ferred :  and  ^Nature  is  conceived  to  have  on  stock  as 
many  powers  as  she  has  kinds  of  product  to  display. 
Thus  it  is  that  we  fill  out  our  list  of  mechanical,  chemical, 
vital,  mental  forces.  The  only  differences  actually 
observed  lie  among  the  phenomena :  but  these  arc 
taken  as  exponents  of  corresponding  diiierences  in 
the  caufcs  behind.  The  very  distinction  and  orgaiii- 
zation  of  the  Sciences  themselves  proceetl  ui),)n  tiiis 
principle :  each  science  taking  up  from  among  the 
pro[)erties  of  matter  some  one  type,  and  chasing  /t, 
as  it  were,  thx'ough  the  universe,  and  writing  out  the 
history  of  its  achievements.  Latterly,  however,  espe- 
cially since  the  application  of  a  more  refined  research 


NATURE    AND    GOD.  137 

to  the  so-called  "imponderable  aiicnt^,"  the  old  Hncs  of 
classification  iiave  been  losinii;  their  niechanicid  straight- 
ness  and  sharpness,  and  tlie  coloring  of  the  several 
provinces  has  faded  into  softer  contrast,  tending  to 
something  more  than  harmony.  The  first  effect  of  the 
prism,  in  the  hands  of  Newton,  was  to  destroy  the  sim- 
plicity of  light,  and  to  disengage  it  in  idea  from  heat : 
the  last  effect,  in  the  hands  of  Bunsen,  has  been,  in  tlie 
very  act  of  giving  extension  and  piecisiou  to  the  analysis, 
to  twine  together,  in  a  web  of  wonderful  relations, 
the  luminiferous,  the  calorific,  and  the  chemical  rays. 
liy  the  undulatory  theory,  the  same  calcidus  embraces 
the  measurement  of  sound  and  of  light.  Galvanism, 
manipulated  by  Davy,  became  the  most  powerful  of 
chemical  agencies.  And,  In'  both  direct  and  converse 
proofs.  Oersted  and  Faraday  have  compelled  electricity 
and  magnetism  to  exchange  effects.  The  several  modi- 
fications of  motion  producetl  by  all  these  agents  carry 
in  them  mechanical  momentum,  and  avail  to  overcome 
cohesion  and  gravitation.  By  combining  such  facts  as 
these,  Mr.  Grove  has  shown,  in  his  ingenious  and 
striking  Essay  cited  at  the  head  of  this  Article,  that  all 
the  forces  comprised  under  the  term  "  Physical  "  are  so 
"  correlated  "  as  to  be  no  sooner  expended  in  one  form 
than  they  re-appear  in  another,  —  in  fact,  to  be  converti- 
ble inter  se ;  and  therefore  to  be  not  many,  but  one, — 
a  dynamic  self-identity  masked  by  transmigration.  Not 
content  with  a  dead  pause  at  Mr.  Grove's  resting-place, 
])r.  Carpenter,  in  his  conununlcation  to  the  Royal  So- 
ciety, has  carried  the  argument  to  a  higher  point,  and 
shown  that  the  law  extends  to  the  Vital  f  )rces  :  and,  in 
his  Human  l^hi/sioloyij,  he  conducts   it  to  its  climax 


138  NATURE    AND   GOD. 

in  the  ^Mental  forces.  The  energy  of  volition  coinnr.uii- 
catcs  itself  to  the  motory  iiorvct! ;  these  M^iiiii  li:uul  ovcf 
the  stimulus  to  the  muscular  fibre  ;  hy  whooc  coutrac- 
tion,  finally,  some  mechanical  moveujcut  is  })ro(liice(l : 
each  step  of  the  process  being  marked  by  a  waste  or 
consumption  of  the  transmitting  medium,  but  an  undi- 
minished propagation  of  the  transmitted  force.  Jt  is 
not  within  the  sco[)e  of  our  [>resent  design  critically  to 
estimate  this  subtle  speculation  ;  but  simply  to  lecord  it 
as  the  last  result  of  dynamic  generalization.  The  con- 
clusion is,  that  the  plurality  of  forces  is  an  iilusi.>n  ; 
that  in  reality,  and  behind  the  variegated  veil  of  hetero- 
geneous phenomena,  there  is  but  one  force,  the  soli- 
tary fountain  of  the  whole  infinitude  of  change. 

This  position,  however,  immeiliatcly  opens  a  further 
question.  W  we  are  to  reduce  our  numerical  vaiiety 
of  forces  to  one,  tchich  member  of  the  series  is  to  re- 
main witli  us  as  the  tyi)e  of  all?  Where  is  the  initial 
point  of  these  migrations?  How  are  we  to  know  the 
propria  jjei'-sona  of  the  power  from  its  disguises? 
Shall  we  more  rightly  presume  that  the  lowest  term, — 
the  mechanical,  —  passes  upwards  and  re-ap[)ears  in  the 
form  of  mind? — or  that  the  highest  rather  descend.-', 
divesting  itself  of  j)rerogati\e  qualities  at  each  step,  and 
ap[)earing  at  last  with  quantitative  identity  alone?  For 
answer  to  these  questions  we  must  turn  from  the  physi- 
cal to  the  metaphysical  scrutiny  of  the  main  concep- 
tion. We  have  seen  that  it  is  a  hyperphysical  idea,  a 
j)ostulate  of  Reason,  a|)plied  to  nature:  and  to  find  its 
essence  and  true  type,  we  nmst  disengage  ourselves 
from  its  applications  and  detect  its  piu-e  form  in  our 
intellectual   constitution.     Cast  your  eye,   then,  along 


NATURE    AXD    GOD.  13S 

tlie  series  enumerated  by  Grove  and  Carpenter,  and 
ask  yourself  in  which  of"  these  forms  the  dynamic  ide.i 
originally  necessitates  itself.  Is  it  that  you  have  to 
supply  it  on  seeing  an  external  body  ch:mge  its  place  ? 
or,  on  witnessing  some  chemical  [)henomenon,  as  an 
acid  stain  of  red  on  a  blue  cloth?  or,  on  noticing  tlie 
needle  quiver  to  the  North?  It  will  be  admitted  that, 
if  we  ourselves  were  purely  passive,  all  these  changes 
might  cross  our  visual  field  with  only  the  effect  of  a, 
time-succession,  —  first,  one  movement  or  condition, 
then  another :  while,  conversely,  if,  without  any  of 
these  phenomena  exhibiting  themselves  bcfoi-e  us,  we 
ourselves  were  in  tlie  active  exercise  of  Volition  more 
or  less  difficult,  the  idea  of  Force  would  be  provided 
for.  It  follows  that  Will  is  tlie  true  type  of  the  concep- 
tion, identical  with  it  as  a  primitive  intuition  ;  and  that 
its  lower  forms  are  but  an  attenuated  transcri[)t  of  tills, 
stripped,  by  artificial  al)straction,  of  all  that  is  super- 
fluous for  the  exigencies  of  scientific  classification. 
The  habitual  resort  of  [)hiU)sop!iers  to  this,  when  they 
want  an  illustratii>n  of  tlie  dynamic  idea,  might  con- 
vince them  that  it  is  uiore  than  an  illustration,  —  that 
it  is  the  sole  and  exhaustive  case,  of  wiilch  the  rest  are 
but  mutilated  conceptual  repetitions,  and  without  which 
there  would  be  no  others.  Dr.  Carpenter,  with  his 
usual  clearness  in  penetrating  to  tlie  essential  point, 
seizes  at  once  on  tlie  ''  sense  of  effort "  as  the  ground  of 
all  our  causal  thought,  —  as  the  "form  of  Force  which 
may  he  taken  as  the  type  of  all  the  rest;'''  declares 
that  "our  consciousness  of  fi)rce  is  really  as  direct  as  is 
that  of  our  own  mental  states;"  and  admits  that,  "in 
this   particular   case,   Force    must    be   regarded   us    the 


14(»  NATURE    AND    GOD. 

diiect  expression  or  manifestation  of  that  Mental  state 
>vliieh  we  call  Will."  But  he  stops  short,  as  it  seems 
to  us,  of  the  true  breadth  and  simplicity  of  his  reduc- 
tion, when  he  adds,  —  "In  the  plienomenon  of  vol- 
imtary  movement,  we  can  scarcely  avoid  seeinj^  that 
Mind  is  one  of  the  dynamical  agencies  which  is  capa- 
hk;  of  acting-on  jNIatter ;  and  that,  like  other  such 
agencies,  the  mode  of  its  manifestation  is  aiTected  by 
the  nature  of  tlie  material  suhstratum  through  which  its 
influence  is  exerted."  *  If  Force  is  known  to  us  from 
witliin,  if  it  is  the  name  we  give  to  self-conscious  exer- 
cise of  power,  then  that  is  just  the  whole  of  it  known 
to  us  at  all  ;  —  not  "  one  particular  case,"  leaving  "  other 
such  agencies  "  to  be  learned  in  some  ditlerent  way  ;  but 
the  absolute  dynamical  conception  itself,  co-extensi\e 
witli  every  actual  and  possible  instance.  Take  away 
the  "consciousness  of  force"  in  ourselves,  and  with  the 
keenest  vision  we  should  see  it .  nowhere  in  nature. 
Endow  lis  with  it ;  and  we  have  still  no  more  ability 
than  before  to  perceive  it  as  an  object  in  the  external 
world,  observation  giving  us  access  only  to  phenomena 
a-;  distributed  in  S{)ace  and  time.  Nor,  from  knowing 
it  within,  do  we  acquire  any  logical  right  to  infer  it 
without,  (!xcept  in  virtue  of  an  axiom  of  lieason  in- 
separably present  in  it,  —  that  "all  phenomena  are  the 
exj)ression  of  Power,"  —  the  counterpart  of  that  power 
which  issues  our  own.  This  it  is  which  constrains  us  to 
think  causation  behind  nature,  and  under  causation 
to  think  of  Volition.  "Other  fcn'ce"  we  have  no  sort 
of  ground  for  believing,  —  or,  except  by  artific(;3  of 
abstraction,  even  power  of  conceiving.  The  dynamic 
*  Human  Physiology,  §  585. 


NATURE    AXD    GOD.  141 

idea  is  either  this,  or  nothing- :  and  the  lo2,icnl  aherna- 
tive  assuredly  is,  tliat  Nature  is  either  a  mere  Tinie- 
niarch  of  phenomena,  or  an  e.\[)ression  of  Mind. 

Tiie  })hysical  and  the  metapliysical  scrutiny  of  tiiis 
in<lispensable  scientific  conception  converge,  then,  upon 
one  conclusion  ;  —  that  all  Force  is  of  one  type ;  and 
that  type  is  Mind. 

Tliis  resolution  of  all  external  causation  into  Divine 
Will  at  once  deprives  the  several  theories  of  kosmical 
creation  or  development  of  all  religious  significance. 
Not  one  of  them  has  any  resources  to  work-with  that 
are  other  than  Divine  :  you  may  try  what  you  can  do 
with  this  kind  of  force  or  with  that :  but  you  cannot 
escape  beyond  the  closed  cycle  where  each  is  convertible 
with  Volition.  To  you  it  may  not  api)ear  under  its  full 
aspect:  for  "  Force '"  is  precisely  Will  from  which  xoe 
omit  all  reference  to  tlie  living  thought :  but  its  ob- 
jective character  is  unaffected  by  this  subjective  defudt. 
We  lament  to  see  the  question  between  a  sudden  and  a 
gradual  genesis  of  organic  types  discussed  on  both 
sides,  —  not  indeed  by  the  principals  in  the  dispute  but 
by  secondary  advocates,  —  too  much  as  if  it  were  a 
question  between  God  and  no-God.  In  not  a  few 
of  the  progressionists  the  weak  illusion  is  immistakable, 
that,  with  time  enough,  you  may  get  every  thing  out  of 
next-to-nothing.  Grant  us,  —  they  seem  to  say,  —  any 
tiniest  granule  of  j);)wer,  so  close  upon  zero  that  it  is 
not  worth  begrudging;  allow  it  some  trifling  tendency 
to  infinitesimal  increment ;  and  we  will  show  you  how 
this  little  stock  became  the  Kosmos,  without  (ner  taking 
A  Step  worth  thinking  of,  much  less  constituting  a  case 
for  design.      The   argument   is   a   mere   :ip[)eal    to   au 


142  NATUIJE    AM>    GOO. 

incoini)ctcncy  in  the  huinan  iinaiifiiinti  in  ;  in  virtue  of 
which  magiiitudes  evading  coMcejjtiou  are  treated  as  out 
of  existence ;  and  an  aggregate  of  inappreciable  incre- 
ments is  simultaneously  equated,  —  in  its  cause  to 
nothing,,  in  its  effect  to  the  whole  of  things.  y(Mi 
manifestly  want  the  same  Causality,  whether  concen- 
trated on  a  moment,  or  distributed  through  incalculable 
ages  :  only,  in  drawing  upon  it,  a  logical  tlieft  is  more 
easily  committed  piecemeal  than  wholesale.  Surely  it  is 
a  mean  device  for  a  philosopher,  tlms  to  crib  causation 
by  hairs-breadths,  to  put  it  out  at  compound  interest 
through  all  time,  and  then  disown  the  debt.  And  it  is 
vain  after  all:  —  for  dihite  the  intensity,  and  change 
the  form,  as  you  will,  of  the  Power  that  has  issued  the 
Universe,  it  remains,  except  to  your  subjective  illusion, 

nothins:  less  than  Infinite  and  nothini;  lower  than  Di- 
es o 

vine.  And  hence  it  is  an  equal  error  in  the  Theist  to 
implicate  his  faith  in  resistance  to  the  doctrine  of  pro- 
gressive development,  —  be  it  in  the  formation  of  the 
solar  system,  in  the  consolidation  of  the  earth's  crust, 
or  the  origination  of  organic  species.  Thiit  doctrine 
would  be  atheistic  only  if  the  first  germ  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  evolution  on  the  other,  were  root  and 
branch  undivine,  —  some  blind  material  force  that  could 
set  itself  up  in  rivalry  to  God's.  luiistnuch,  however, 
as  all  forces  are  convertible,  and  that,  too,  not  by  cul- 
mination into  Volition  but  by  reduction  from  Volition, 
they  are  but  Ills  mask  and  can  never  be  Mis  competi- 
tors :  and  if  ever  they  seem  less  than  Will,  it  is  only 
by  a  self-abnegation  which  is  itself  one  of  the  highest 
acts  of  Will.  Why,  but  for  the  fallacious  suspicion  to 
which  we  refer,  should  you  object  to  recognize  a  law  of 


NATURE    AND    GOD.  143 

progression  in  n.iture  nny  more  than  ia  human  history- ? 
You  think  it  Providential  that  Jlan  should  be  con- 
ducted from  low  beginnings,  through  the  struggles  of  a 
various  experience,  to  a  civilized  existence  beyond  the 
dreams  of  an  early  world.  You  folhnv,  not  without  a 
solemn  piety,  the  steps  of  a  Lessing  or  a  liunscn  tracing 
the  Education  of  our  race.  From  the  ])aini"ul  impres- 
sion left  upon  you  by  the  long  and  wide  spectacle  of 
savage  life,  by  the  meanness  of  a  thousand  supersti- 
tions, by  the  cruelties  and  flagitiousness  which  darken 
even  the  most  brilliant  and  sacred  eras,  yon  fly  f)r 
relief  to  the  thought,  that  these  are  but  transitory 
stages  on  the  Avay  to  better  things ;  —  that  they  do 
not  in  themselves  give  the  true  idea  of  the  workl ;  — 
that  they  must  be  viewed  in  connection  with  the  ulterior 
destination  on  which  all  the  lines  of  the  past  converge. 
You  even  argue  that,  were  there  nothing  of  this  move- 
ment in  advance,  —  were  every  thing  human  stationp.ry 
as  Chinese  society  or  periodic  as  the  Stoic's  universe,  — 
all  would  look  too  much  like  Fate :  it  is  not  in  a 
perpetual  noon,  but  only  in  a  brightening  dawn,  that 
Divine  hope  rises  in  the  heart.  W  by,  then,  if  it  i)e 
reverential  to  think  thus  of  man,  should  it  be  atheistic 
to  think  the  same  of  nature?  A\  hat  is  kosmieal  devel- 
opment but  the  counterpart  of  lunnan  progression? 
Without  an  ever-living  movement  of  idea,  how  can  we 
conceive  of  an  Eternal  Mind  at  all?  And  if  there  be 
a  Divine  plan  througii  all,  iiow  is  its  law  to  be  read  off 
and  its  drift  deciphered,  but,  as  every  infmite  seiies  is 
found,  by  legibly  exposing  some  aderpiate  segment  of 
its  terms,  and  spreading  its  steps  along  tlie  ages?  We 
pronounce  at  present  no  opinion  on   the  scicjntific  ques- 


144  NATURE    AM)    GOD. 

tion  to  which  ^Ir.  Dnrwin's  book  has  recently  imparted 
a  fiesli  inteiest.  Looking  at  the  speeuhition  with 
rathci-  a  logician's  than  a  naturalist's  eye,  we  coniess 
that  our  prevailing  impression,  at  a  little  distance  from 
the  fascinations  of  the  author's  skill,  is  of  the  extreme 
exility  of  the  evidence  compared  with  the  innnensity  of 
the  conclusion.  Should,  however,  the  doctrine  of  Natu- 
ral Selection  become  as  well-established  as  that  of  suc- 
cessive geologic  deposition,  we  venture  to  predict  that 
works  on  Natural  Theology  will  not  only  survive  this 
new  shock  to  the  idea  of  creative  paroxysms,  but  will 
turn  it  to  account  as  a  fertile  source  of  theistic  evidence 
and  illustration.  It  is  matter  for  regret  and  surprise 
that  Mr.  Darwin  himself  should  have  set  forth  his 
hypothesis  as  excluding  the  action  of  a  higher  intel- 
ligence : 

"Nothing"  (he  says)  "at  first  can  appear  more  diiriciilt 
to  believe  than  tliat  the  more  complex  organs  and  instincts 
should  have  been  perfected,  not  by  moans  superior  to,  tiiongli 
analogous  with,  human  reason,  hut  by  tlie  accumulation  of 
innninerable  slight  variations,  eacli  good  for  the  individual 
possessor"  (p.  459). 

Surely  the  antithesis  could  not  be  more  false,  were 
we  to  speak  of  some  patterned  damask  as  made,  not  i)y 
the  weaver,  b^it  by  the  loom  ;  or  of  any  methodized  pro- 
duct as  arising  not  from  its  primary  hat  from  its  sec- 
ondary source.  All  the  determining  conditions  of 
species,  —  viz.  (1)  the  possible  range  of  valuation,  (2) 
its  hereditary  ])reservation,  (3)  the  extrusion  of  inferior 
rivals,  —  must  be  conceived  as  already  contained  in  the 
constituted  laws  of  organic  life  ;  in  and  through  which, 


NATURE    AND    GOD.  145 

just  as  well  as  by  imincdiatccl  starts,  "Reason  supci'Ior 
to  the  human  "  may  evolve  the  ultimate  results.  In  a 
perfectly  analogous  case  the  products  of  human  indus- 
try distribute  themselves  over  the  earth  according  to  the 
laws  of  Political  Economy,  all  springing  from  the  spon- 
taneous pressure  of  human  desires :  yet  who  would 
think  it  a  just  antithesis  to  say,  that  the  ebb  and  flow 
of  wealth  and  arts  are  due,  not  to  any  Providence  of 
God,  hut  to  the  hunger  of  mankind? 

At  the  same  time,  though  Primary  and  Secondary 
causation  do  not  exclude  each  other,  we  own  the  diffi- 
culty of  clearly  adjusting  their  relation  in  our  thought  : 
nor  can  we  j)retend  that  it  is  abated  by  resolving  all 
power  into  Will.  In  the  suj)ernatural  sphere,  indeed, 
—  the  communion  of  Spirit  with  Spirit,  —  the  Divine 
with  the  Human,  —  this  Personal  conception  of  jiower 
meets  every  exigency ;  because  here  the  relation  all 
depends  on  the  free  play  of  affection  and  character. 
liut  the  governance  of  Mature  by  Personal  Volition  is 
less  easy  to  conceive,  the  more  we  are  impressed  by  the 
inflexibility,  the  neutrality,  the  universal  sweep  of  her 
great  laws.  For  mere  manageable  clearness,  if  that 
were  all,  some  credit  might  be  given  to  the  old  Deistlcal 
representation,  of  God  as  once  contriving  the  universe, 
and  then  stocking  it  with  properties  and  powers  which 
dispensed  with  his  further  agency.  Unfortunately, 
these  properties  and  })owers  once  installed  in  the  kos- 
mical  executive,  are  too  apt,  like  mayors  of  the  palace, 
to  set  up  for  themselves  :  and  the  more  all  definite  idea 
of  a  creative  epoch,  marked  by  sudden  birth  of  tlio 
heavens  and  the  earth,  breaks  up  and  distributes  itself, 
the  less  haw  this   theory  to  hold    it   togetliei",   and   tlio 

10 


146  NATURE   AND   GOD. 

more  urj^ent  becomes  the  cry  for  an  immanent  and  liv- 
ing God.  The  religion  of  the  j)rcsent  ap^e,  in  all  its 
newer  and  more  vigorous  manifestation!',  represents  this 
cry.  lie-acting  against  the  usurpations  of  secondary 
causation,  wearied  of  its  distance  from  the  Fountain- 
head,  it  flings  itself  back  with  pathetic  repentance  into 
the  arms  of  the  Primary  Infinitude,  and  tries  to  feel 
even  the  iron  clasp  of  nature  as  the  immediate  embrace 
of  God.  It  is  a  pure  and  high  impulse :  yet,  when 
tranquil  enough  to  go  in  search  of  its  philosophical 
ground,  it  must  become  conscious  of  dangers  and  self- 
variance  on  this  side  too.  It  is  impossible  to  resolve 
all  natural  causation  into  direct  Will  without  raising 
questions  (we  say  it  plainly,  but  with  reverence)  of  the 
Divine  psychology.  You  say,  He  personally  issues  all 
the  changes  in  the  universe.  Is  there,  then,  a  volition 
for  each  phenomenon?  and  if  so,  what  constitutes  a  sin- 
gle phenomenon? —  each  drop  of  rain,  for  instance,  or, 
the  whole  shower?  or,  the  wider  atmospheric  ti<le  which 
includes  the  other  term  of  the  broken  equilibrium?  or, 
the  system  of  aerial  currents  that  enwrap  the  earth,  and 
of  which  this  is  as  much  an  element  as  the  rain-drop  of 
the  shower?  or,  the  tissue  of  conditions,  without  which 
such  currents  would  not  be  what  they  are,  —  including, 
at  a  stroke,  the  constitution  of  water  and  of  air,  the 
Laws  of  caloric,  the  distribution  of  land  and  sea,  the  ter- 
restrial rotation,  the  inclined  equator,  the  solar  light 
and  heat?  ^^'here,  in  this  mighty  web  of  relations,  are 
we  to  fix,  and  how  to  insulate,  the  ti7iit  of  volition? 
Driven,  by  the  infinite  multiplicity  of  phenomena,  to 
recognize  in  some  form  the  occurrence  of  generic  voli- 
tion, you  encounter  the  ulterior  question,  what,  then, 


NATURE    AND    GOD.  147 

constitutes  the  jji'iiiciple  of  grouping  for  each  genus, 
wliereby  what  ia  manifold  towards  us  is  one  from  Him  ? 
Are  the  objects  of  his  determining  Thought  concrete 
things  and  integral  beings,  individuals  or  kinds,  such  as 
Natural  History  deals  with  in  its  classifications?  Or, 
are  they  rather  those  functions  or  properties  into  which 
we  analyze  bodies,  —  which  run  together  to  constitute 
an  individual,  and  separate  to  traverse  a  host ;  —  so  that 
he  thinks  in  the  order  of  Science,  with  a  volition  for 
each  Law,  —  now  gra\  itation  and  all  that  it  carries,  — 
then,  Electricity  throughout  its  sweep?  Lay  out  the 
conception  which  way  you  will,  the  two  divisions  cross 
each  other.  In  the  contemplative  religion  of  many  a 
cultivated  man,  they  doubtless  come,  the  one  or  the 
otlier,  as  may  turn  uppermost,  with  no  sense  of  incon- 
sistency. But  down  in  subtler  depths  the  perplexing 
mysteiy  has  been  felt,  ever  since  Plato's  s'i'drj,  after 
vainly  grappling  with  it,  left  it  to  the  consciousness  of 
tlie  world. 

Mr.  Poynting,  in  his  Gliinpses  of  the  Heaven  that 
lies  around  us,  assumes  the  Scientific  order  of  Divine 
volition  ;  supposes  the  Kosmos  to  be  thought-out.  Law 
by  Law,  in  the  track  of  Newton's,  Dalton's,  Oken's, 
Faraday's  generalizations  ;  and  feels  every  shadow  gone 
in  the  simple  recognition  of  God  as  personally  execu- 
ting the  whole  scheme.  His  book  is  not  less  picturesque 
in  exposition  and  ingenious  in  combination  than  it  is 
bright  and  joyous  in  tone  ;  and  to  young  readers,  able 
to  adapt  themselves  to  its  somewhat  fantastic  form,  it 
gives  a  valuable  couji-cVieil  of  the  newer  melhods  of 
scientific  thought,  though  perha^js  with  too  little  dis- 
crimination of  positive  results  from  speculative  inter- 


148  NATUllK    AXL)    (iOD. 

pretation.  For  our  fastidious  gra\ity,  wo  uiust  confers, 
the  visionary  and  supernatural  dress  of  the  first  part  of 
the  work,  —  in  which  the  author,  escaped  from  the 
body,  has  the  worhl  explained  to  him  by  a  celestial  lec- 
turer,—  is  more  a  burden  than  a  help.  But  doubtless 
we  are  heavy  of  wing :  and  in  compassion  to  such  in- 
firmity, the  author,  in  a  second  part  of  the  volume, 
re-appears  in  the  Hesh,  and  takes  his  stand  upoti  the  level 
earth  again,  and  gives  a  prose  version  of  the  "  Divina 
Cv)mmedia"  that  precedes.  From  this  part  we  gather 
the  theory  that  God's  supreme  end  is  the  revelation  and 
spiritual  reproduction  of  Himself  in  humanity ;  that 
history,  Scripture,  nature,  are  constituted  throughout 
to  serve  as  the  school  and  discipline  of  our  race  ;  that 
the  lower  ranks  of  organized  beings  are  sent  forth  as 
prefiguremcnts,  in  advancing  series,  of  man  ;  that  the 
several  orders  of  force,  —  mechanical,  chemical,  vital, 
mental,  —  by  which  nature  is  built  up,  arc  developed 
modes  of  atomic  attraction  and  repulsion  ;  which  again 
are  resolvable,  atoms  and  all,  into  a  direct  exercise  of 
Divine  power  in  lines  converging  on  given  jjoiiits 
of  space.  An  atom  is  a  geometrical  centre  on  which 
God  directs  force  in  all  radii,  thus  constituting  an 
attraction  thither.  Did  the  radii  mutually  impinge 
with  perfect  precision,  they  would  give  a  statical  result- 
ant :  but  arriving  with  slight  inaccuracy,  they  form  an 
eddy  round  the  centre,  and  so  surround  it  with  a  zone 
of  repulsion.  Two  atoms  unite,  when,  through  rotation 
in  opposite  directions,  their  osculating  surfaces  are  mov- 
ing in  the  same ;  while  under  reverse  conditions  they 
retreat.  An  atom  quivering  makes  its  lines  of  gravitat- 
ing force  quiver  too  ;  and  hence  the  phenomena  of  light 


katu;;e  and  god.  1  ly 

niid  sound,  and  whatever  else  is  reducible  to  undulation. 
liy  changes,  often  ingeniously  rung,  u[)on  these  ele- 
mentary assumptions,  the  atoms  are  made  to  climb  into 
their  [)lace  and  build  the  world  and  its  organisms  ;  and 
the  lines  to  vibrate  in  such  inijde  and  degree  as  to  fur- 
nish law  after  law  in  every  science  froui  })hysics  to 
]>hysiology.  The  hypothesis,  in  its  resolution  of  matter 
into  force,  bears  an  essential  resemblance  to  Bosco- 
vich's  ;  and,  as  might  be  expected,  breaks  down  at  the 
same  point,  —  the  attempt  to  step,  with  only  quantita- 
tive help,  to  the  qualitative  piienomena  of  nature.  All 
the  optical  history,  for  instance,  of  a  sunbeam  is  elabo- 
rately deduced  :  and  the  physiological  changes  along  the 
visual  nerve  are  also  set  forth  :  and  both  series  of  pro[)- 
agated  movements  are  regarded  as  wonderfid  provision 
for  enabling  us  to  see.  But  when  the  question  is  asked, 
how  it  is  that  one  vibration  of  atoms  gives  the  sensa- 
tion of  heat,  another  that  of  light,  a  third  that  of  sound, 
the  only  answer  is,  such  is  the  will  of  God,  who,  "as 
soon  as  the  quivering  beats  on  eye  or  spirit,"  "raises  in 
the  mind  the  idea  of  light,"  or  of  heat,  &c.,  as  it  may 
be.  Were  it  not,  then,  for  this  interposed  s[)ecial  voli- 
tion, the  visual  idea  would  not  arise,  and  trains  of 
vibratory  processes  would  be  as  inoperative  on  the  eye 
as  they  are  upon  the  ear.  There  is  thus  no  more  fitness 
in  one  of  the  mechanisms  than  in  another,  or  in  any 
than  in  none  at  all,  to  |)roduce  its  aj)])ended  j)erception  : 
for  this  flows  from  a  Divine  act  which  might  just  as 
well  interchange  the  antecedents  or  dispense  with  them 
entirely.  And  when  we  further  remember  that  all  the 
])rior  movements  are  also  desciil)ed  as  God's  own  voli- 
tion:d  force,  we  seem  to  lose  ourselves  ''n    i  gratuitous 


150  NATURE   AND   GOD. 

circuit,  in  wliich  He  devises  and  works  liis  own  com- 
plex machinery  for  providing  liis  own  occasions  for 
interposing  liis  own  volitions.  We  are  reminded  irre- 
sistibly of  Malebranche  :  who,  in  the  chain  of  material 
causes  and  effects,  saw  a  scheme  of  nature  offered  to 
the  apprehension  of  Minds;  and,  in  the  constituted 
faculties  of  minds,  beheld  a  provision  for  the  cognition 
of  Xatuie ;  yet  sunk  an  impassable  chasm  between 
them,  and  made  intercommunication  impossible,  except 
by  miracles,  viero  nrbitrio,  that  superseded  both. 
With  Malebranche,  however,  the  direct  Divine  act 
was  limited  to  the  intermediation  between  Mind  and 
Matter,  each  of  which  could  operate  in  its  own  s[)here 
though  not  cross  over  to  the  other.  But  Mr.  Poynt- 
ing's  spinning  machinery  of  atoms  is  the  immediate 
activity  of  God  :  the  whole  mental  life  of  man,  and  the 
ordinary  exercise  of  his  faculties,  are  so  too  ;  not  less 
than  the  intercourse  between  the  one  and  the  other. 
When  the  objectivity  of  Nature,  and  the  subjectivity 
of  Man,  and  the  whole  scheme  of  relations  uniting 
them,  are  all  thrown  into  the  Infinite  together,  all  dis- 
tinctions of  being  disappear,  all  problems  vanish,  and 
complex  tissues  of  adaptation  seem  to  lose  all  serious 
meaning  and  take  the  aspect  of  an  empty  play  of 
thought,  evoking  conditions  in  order  to  meet  them. 
For  our  own  part,  we  confess  to  a  very  sceptical  ap[)re- 
ciiition  of  the  whole  atomic  doctrine,  so  imfortunately 
mixed  up  by  Dalton  with  the  law  of  definite  ])ropor- 
tions :  and  cannot  help  regarding  the  idea  expressed  by 
the  word  "  atom  "  as  a  purely  fictitious  contrivance  for 
esca])ing  the  contradictions  of  infinitude,  an  atbitrary 
stop  in  face  of  the  perils  of  that  wildcrncts,  a  logical 


NATURE    AND    GOD.  151 

tlirust  of  tlie  ostrich-liead  into  the  sand.  And  it  may 
be  due  perhaps  to  this  disrespectful  estimate,  that  \vc 
find  it  painful  to  picture  the  Divine  agency  expending 
itself  in  rectilinear  descents  upon  these  centres,  and  in 
eddies  round  them,  and  quiverings  from  them,  and 
a  continuous  evolution  of  nature  from  nothing  else  than 
such  questionable  rudiments.  If  such  things  really  go 
on,  we  are  not  anxious  to  wrest  them  from  the  men 
of  science  and  their  "  secondary  laws,"  in  order  to  claim 
them  for  the  Primary. 

But  besides  the  questionable  character  of  this  atomic 
starting-point,  and  the  incongruous  mixture  of  neces- 
sary deduction  and  iiiterpolated  miracle,  the  exposition 
is  open  to  the  o'ojcction  which  attaches  to  every  scheme 
of  mere  Di\  ine  self  evolution  :  it  is,  or  in  the  mind 
of  consequential  thinkers  it  jnust  become.  Pantheistic. 
We  use  ihi;  word,  not  as  a  loose  term  of  current 
reproach,  —  repr  >.;cli  often  directed  against  precisely 
what  is  most  pure  and  true  in  the  religion  of  thoughtful 
men,  —  but  rigoron  ;iy,  tt)  mark  the  absence  in  a  scheme 
of  the  universe  of  any  thing  or  being  properly  objective 
to  God  :  and  this  feature  we  cann»)t  but  regard  as  a 
fatal  loss  of  philosophical  equilibrium.  Mr.  Poynting 
anticipates  this  obje-tion,  and  meets  it  thus  : 

"I  hiive  been  told  that  some  people  will  susj)ect  the  views 
of  the  universe  hen-  --et  forth  of  being  Pantlui-tic.  If  there 
slioiilil  be  any  such  |KM'son<,  let  me  b«'g  them  nut  to  be  fright- 
ened by  tlieir  own  s|»e('lr;d  fancies.  The  views  here  given, 
instead  of  being  Pantheistic,  are  tlie  antidote  for  Panthe- 
ism. 

Pantheism  is  the  conception  of  the  Universe  as  God. 
According  to  it,  nature  and  human   minds  are  all  only  parts 


152  NATURE    AND    GOD. 

of  one  Mysterious  All,  called  God,  but  not  thought  of  fus  a 
personal  Being,  as  having  thoughts  and  affections  like  tho 
Christian  God. 

Now  instead  of  saying  that  the  Universe  is  God,  I  dis- 
tinctly say  that  the  Universe  is  only  the  sign  and  effect  of 
God  —  his  word,  just  as  our  words  are  signs  and  eff'Cts  of  our 
being.  Instead  of  saying  the  mind  of  man  is  only  a  part  of 
God,  I  distinctly  say  that  the  very  exjtlanation  of  our  exist- 
ence is,  that  God  desires  not  to  nudtiply  Htmse!/.  but  that  lie 
craves  otherness —  beings  not  Himself;  but  ordy  like  Himself, 
sympatiiizing  witii  Him,  —  sons  and  heirs,  not  members  of  Ids 
own  being. 

The  conception  of  God  here  presented  is  intensely  unpan- 
theistic,  because  it  is  intensely  pei"Sonal.  God  is  thought  of 
here  as  a  being  of  love,  goodness,  thought ;  as,  in  fact,  a 
Father.  The  whole  doctrine  of  the  book  depends  upon  the 
soundness  of  our  attributing  to  Him  syni|)atliies  like  those 
which  we  ourselves  possess."     {^[iitrudtialion,  [>.  xxi.) 

This  empliatic  disclaimer  is  perfectly  satisfactory,  so 
far  as  tl>e  author's  own  faith,  uiul  the  conscious  aim  of 
his  teaching,  are  concerned.  It  is  also  true  that, 
tliroughout  his  volume,  the  Personality  of  God,  and  his 
Transcendency  beyond  Nature,  are  never  coinproujised  ; 
and  that  the  ascription  to  Him  of  emotions  and  concep- 
tions akin  to  ours  is  carried  even  to  the  ver<^e  on  which 
reverence  begins  to  tremble.  But  it  is  not  cnoui^h  that 
you  save  the  Divine  personality,  if  you  sacrifice  the 
Human  ;  without  relation  to  which  lesser,  as  substan- 
tive moral  object,  the  greater,  left  to  shed  affecticms 
only  on  its  own  phenomenal  effects,  cannot  sustain 
itself  alive.  Our  author's  theory  appears  to  us  to 
make  no  adequate  provision  for  the  personality  of  Man, 
—  to  treat  him  merely  as  the  highest  natural  product, 


NATURE    AND   OOI).  153 

the  last  organism  prefigured  by  the  imperfect  approaches 
of  other  animals,  and  crowning  the  long  line  of  homo- 
geneous development.  jNlr.  Poynting,  indeed,  himself 
believes,  and  intends  to  work  out  the  belief,  that  God 
"craves  otherness,  beings  not  Himself:"  and  if  this 
intention  be  successfully  carried  out,  our  scruple  is 
groundless.  How  far  the  discrimination  of  man  from 
God  is  adequately  made,  —  how  far  it  establishes  them 
in  real  relations  of  Person  to  Person,  —  may  be  esti- 
mated by  the  following  statements  : 

"  How  often  had  a  poor  doubting  mind  confessed  to  me, 
'You  say  tliat  God  is  in  contact  with  us,  and  gives  his  Holy 
Spirit  to  those  who  ask  Hiin.  Yet  I  look  back  through  all 
my  life,  and  I  am  not  aware  of  any  inspiration,  any  revelation, 
any  suggestion,  that  has  not  come,  like  all  my  thoughts  and 
feelings,  by  my  ordinary  faculties  and  instincts.  It  seems  to 
me  that  I  have  been  left  alone  with  my  own  mind,  and  God 
has  not  at  all  interfered  in  its  workings.'  I  now  saw  that  ivhat 
we  call  the  ordinary  loorking  of  the  mind  itself,  the  law  of  its 
faculties,  the  movement  of  its  impulses,  was  the  very  flowing 
of  the  Holy  Spirit"  (p.  75). 

The  same  doubt  is  met  with  the  same  answer  in  the 
Second  Part :  where  it  is  said  : 

"  We  have  watched  our  minds,  we  have  prayed  a)id 
striven,  but  we  have  been  able  to  detect  no  trace  of  any 
stirring  in  our  spirits  beyond  the  natural  action  of  our  faiut- 
ties  and  instincts. 

Let  us,  then,  consider  these  ordinary  impulses  and  "';  nil- 
ties.  When  we  feel  tlie  impulse  of  Benevolence,  the  h.  .c>  of 
the  Beautiful,  the  love  of  Knowledge,  wlien  we  fin  1  th..  Sen- 
timent of  Conscience  approving  or  disapproving,  wh(;n  \  :,  feel 
the  Reason  leading  us  on  from  step  to  step  oi"  truth  w(    i.iiow 


154  NATURE  AND  GOD. 

not  how,  —  whence  do  these  impulses  and  movings  come  ? 
what  is  their  fountain?  Do  we  invent  these  movements? 
Do  we  originate  or  direct  them  ourselves?  No,  the  move- 
ments seem  to  come  in  upon  us  like  streams  of  life  from  a 
source  outside  our  Will.  Now  wimt  is  the  source  from  which 
these  streams  or  movements  come?  Is  there  an  inexhaustible 
supply  of  such  streams,  powers,  impulses,  shut  up  in  secret 
wells  within  us,  and  is  there  some  mechanical  contrivance  for 
unloL-king  these  wells  at  our  need,  and  letting  these  streams 
flow  in  upon  our  consciousness?  I  reply,  we  know  of  no  such 
wells;  we  cannot,  indeed,  ima;|ine  them.  We  have  never  had 
experience  of  any  such  contrivance.  On  the  other  hand,  there 
is  a  Cause,  a  real  known  cause  at  hand  all  around  us  —  God 
himself,  the  Eternal  fountain  of  Life  and  Power  —  quite  suffi- 
cient to  account  for  the  phenomena"  (p.  365). 

If  every  feeling  which  streams  in  upon  me,  and  every 
facultative  activity  that  goes  out  from  me,  is  thus  for- 
eign to  me  and  is  the  Personal  agency  of  another  Mind, 
what  remains  to  be  my  own  ?  Wliere  am  I  ?  My  sub- 
jective experience,  my  objective  energies,  all  given 
away,  the  whole  essence  is  gone,  and  I  have  no  longer 
any  pretension  to  rank  as  a  Person.  The  only  con- 
ceivable residue  of  humanity  left,  after  the  Holy  Si)irit 
has  thus  claimed  its  own,  is  an  empty  capacity  for  the 
reception  and  transmission  of  alien  influences  and  emana- 
tions. Mr.  Poynting  accordingly  speaks  of  the  soul  as 
**an  organ, —  God's  great  organ," — the  music  of  which 
is  from  the  breathing  and  inflowing  of  God's  Holy  Spirit 
(p.  310)  :  —  the  very  image  employed,  if  we  remem- 
ber right,  by  Tertullian,  in  order  to  express  the  entire 
superseding  of  the  human  personality  by  Divine  inspira- 
tion in  the  sacred  writers.  To  say  that  we  stand  re- 
lated to  God,  as  the  artfully-constructed  instrument  to 


NATLRE    AND   GOD.  155 

the  skilled  hand  that  makes  it  speak,  is  to  exclude  the 
conditions  of  moral  life,  and  make  us  His  fabric  rather 
than  His  sons.  Perhaps  our  author  would  refer  ns  to 
other  passages,  in  which  lie  seems  to  reserve  the  ^Vlll 
as  man's  peculium  :  as  in  this  sentence  : 

"  r^very  sensation, every  thouglit,  every  feehng,  every  motion 
of  every  muscle,  destroyed  a  fibril  in  the  voluntary,  or  mail's 
part  of  the  frame;  every  motion  of  heart,  every  motion  of  the 
lungs,  and  each  other  organ  connected  with  the  preparation 
and  circulation,  destroyed  a  tibiil  in  the  involuntary,  or  God's 
part  of  the  frame"  (p.  lo8). 

JVill,  however,  cannot  stand  alone,  to  make  a  per- 
son, when  every  thing  else  has  been  alienated.  It  fails 
of  the  very  conditions  of  its  exercise,  unless  surrounded, 
within  the  same  individuality,  by  the  data,  and  aided  by 
the  light,  of  other  faculties,  forming  with  it  the  proper 
nature  or  constitution  of  the  living  self.  To  will,  with- 
out affection  to  desire,  and  reason  to  compare,  is  impos- 
sible :  the  style,  so  to  speak,  of  affection,  and  the  style 
of  reason,  are  just  as  personally  characteristic,  as  the 
style  of  willing :  and  to  banish  the  two  former  into 
the  Divine  Pcrsonalitv,  while  retaining  otdy  the  third 
for  the  human,  is  at  once  to  "confound  the  persons" 
and  "divide  the  substance."  In  proof  of  the  impersonal 
and  alien  nature  of  our  Reason,  Conscience,  Benevo- 
lence, &c.,  our  author  appeals  to  their  {nvolnntarii 
character,  and  asks  whether  "  we  originate  and  direct 
them."  He  may  test  the  value  of  the  argument  bj 
putting  the  same  question  respecting  Go(l''.s  Reason, 
Benevolence,  Hcdincss,  &c.  Are  these  products  of  His 
Will?     Did  He  "orii{inate"  or  "invent"  tlicm?     And 


156  NATURE   AXD   GOD. 

if  not,  are  they  foreign  to  Him?  On  tlic  contrary,  tliey 
are  of  His  innermost  essence ;  forming  the  spiritual 
backgronnd  of  pre-requisites  to  Volition  ;  more  than  all 
else  defining  His  real  and  ultiimite  Self,  precisely  be- 
cause not  effects  of  His  Will,  but  beyond  Him  to  cre- 
ate or  to  destroy.  In  short,  if  it  is  Will  that  goes  to 
make  personality,  it  must  carry  with  it,  not  its  products 
alone,  but  its  indispensable  conditions.  And  these  are 
just  the  circle  of  impulses  and  faculties  which  our 
author  forbids  us  to  ajipropriate. 

AVe  think,  then,  that  Mr.  Poynting  has  not  adequately 
guarded  his  doctrine  on  this  eide  ;  and  has  left,  in  strict- 
ness, but  one  Person  in  the  Universe.  Let  us  add 
that,  in  this,  he  stands  associated  with  a  great  and  holy 
company,  and  with  them  yields  only  to  the  excess  of  a 
noble  affection.  It  has  ever  been  the  tendency  of 
intense  and  paramount  devotion  to  take  nothing  to 
itself,  and  ffive  cverv  thinfj  to  God.  Minds  enjjafjed 
in  habitual  contem[)lation  of  the  Infinite  seem  to  be- 
come conscious,  not  of  littleness  only,  but  of  nothing- 
ness in  the  Finite  :  and  the  vain  attem[)t  to  hold  the 
two  in  co-existence  ends  in  p:i:^!<ionate  casting  ot 
the  Finite  away.  They  pass  Ijv  mcilitation  into  a 
certain  speculative  form  of  Cbristian  self-abnegation  ; 
and  feel,  with  Augustine,  that,  ethically,  Humanity 
has  no  standing  before  God  ;  with  Malebranche,  that, 
intellectually,  it  has  no  light  but  His ;  with  Tauler, 
that,  s[)iritually,  its  only  strength  is  to  pass,  exposed 
and  weak,  into  His  hand  ;  with  Sjnnoza,  that,  substan- 
tively, it  vanishes  into  a  mode  of  His  reality.  Tran- 
siently, every  religious  man,  it  is  probable,  touches  one 
or  other  of  these  dizzy  verges  of  thought,  where  the 


NATURE    AND    GOD.  157 

spirit  trcmbl(  s  between  the  supreme  lieiuht  and  nothing- 
ncijs.  And  there  are  seasons  in  the  history  of  every 
church  and  nation  when,  in  re-a-.tion  from  a  temper 
of  false  security  and  prag-matical  self-assertion,  it  is 
well  for  the  consciousness  of  a  people  to  be  snatchc<l 
away,  and  planted  for  a  while  where  it  may  look  into 
the  solemn  space  and  feci  the  awful  breath.  But  the 
permanent  equilibrium  of  human  thought  is  not  there. 
The  sense  of  Duty  returns  ;  the  strife  of  Reason  starts 
afresh  ;  the  toil  of  the  Will  resumes  its  to;)ls  ;  —  and 
the  latent  assurance  of  personal  faculty  and  of  real 
freedom  to  use  it,  feeling  its  natural  root,  grows  up 
into  the  light  again  ;  and  pushes  its  green  terrestrial 
margin  ever  further  upon  the  overj)o\vering  expanse 
of  Divine  Necessity.  Augustine  converts  the  world  : 
but  Pelagius  is  its  counsellor  day  by  day.  And  we 
hold  it  indisj)ensable  to  any  tenable  theory  of  Religion, 
that  finite  natures,  and  especially  the  human  person- 
ality, should  be  secured  in  their  real  rights,  and  so 
interj)retcd  as  to  remain,  in  some  intelligible  sense, 
objective  to   God. 

This  condition,  it  is  evident,  no  theory  can  fulfil 
which  represents  (xod  as  evolving  the  universe  ''out  of 
Himself.'^  lie  is  then  both  its  substance  and  its  j>he- 
nomena ;  and  it  is  in  no  way  differenced  from  Him, 
except  by  His  transcending  it.  A  blunt  way  of  avoid- 
ing this  conse(picnce  was  resorted  to  by  the  more 
Judaically-minded  Fathers  of  the  Church  in  their  doe- 
trine  of  "creation  out  of  J^nthiiuf ;" — a  doctrine 
which,  holding  its  ground  so  fir  as  material  or  fab- 
ricated nature  is  concerned,  yielded,  at  the  higher  stage 
of  human  and  spiritual  existence,  to  the  Alexandrine 


158  NATURE   AND   GOD. 

notion  of  the  extension  of  the  Divine  Logos  :  and  thus 
made  way  for  the  distinction  between  a  mere  creature 
and  a  son  of  God.  This  bhink  "Nothing," — what- 
ever phik)sopher8  may  say  against  it,  —  vvjis  at  least 
effectual  for  cuttinjj  off  all  obliijations  to  antecedent 
material,  whether  within  or  without  the  Eternal  sub- 
stantive Being,  and  compelling  the  recognition  of  the 
world  as  somethinjif  other  than  God.  To  this  ffrand 
Hebrew  distinction,  a  true  instinct  led  the  Church  to 
clinsr  through  all  the  seductions  of  Gnosticit^m  :  and 
though  the  formula  embodying  it  may  give  way,  philo- 
sophical Theism  cannot  afford  to  surrender  the  distinc- 
tion itself  in  any  re-action  towards  Greek  and  German 
modes  of  thought.  Our  age  professes  itself  weary  of 
the  old  mechanical  Deism,  and  cries  out  for  the  Imma- 
nent and  Living  God.  It  is  well :  but,  even  for 
Immanency  itself,  there  must  be  something  wherein 
to  dwell ;  and  for  Life,  something  whereon  to  act. 
Mind,  to  think  out  its  problems,  —  unless  those  prob- 
lems are  a  dream,  —  cannot  be  monistic,  —  a  mere 
subjective  infinitude,  —  its  tides  and  eddies  all  within. 
What  resource,  then,  have  we,  when  we  seek  for  some- 
thing objective  to  God?  The  first  and  simplest,  in 
which  accordingly  philosophy  has  never  failed  to  take 
refuge,  is  Space.  Inconceivable  by  us  except  as  co- 
extensive and  co-eternal  with  Him  yet  independent  of 
Him,  it  lies  ready,  with  all  its  contents  of  geometri- 
cal property,  for  the  intuition  of  his  Reason.  And  to 
Thought,  which  thus  comes  out  of  its  eternity,  and 
engages  itself  upon  determinate  relation,  we  cannot 
help  ascribing  the  cognition  of  Time,  with  its  attend- 
ant, Number.     Thus,  the  circle  of  quantitative  data  is 


NATURE    AXD    GOD.  15£ 

com})lete,  aiul  the  ground  of  all  niensuratlve  and  de- 
ductive intellect  is  there.  Will  this,  then,  suffice? 
Can  we  follow  out  the  Kosniical  problem  to  its  end 
u[)on  this  track?  The  experiment  has  been  too  tempt- 
ing for  philosophers  to  resist ;  and  again  and  again 
they  have  worked  in  this  vein,  and  tried  to  exhibit  the 
imiverse  <as  a  deduction,  thought-out  "  more  geomet- 
rico "  from  axioms  of  Eternal  Reason  ;  to  dispense 
altogether  with  creative  volition,  as  the  source  of 
order ;  and  to  connect  even  physical  qualities  and  phe- 
nomena by  a  conceivable  chain  of  logical  necessity  with 
the  self-evidence  at  fountain-head.  But  though  in 
these  attempts  the  most  has  been  made  of  quantitative 
methods  and  conceptions,  —  though,  for  instance,  Ex- 
tension has  been  set  up  as  the  essence  of  Body,  in  the 
same  way  as  Thought  is  the  essence  of  Mind,  —  it  has 
proved  impossible  to  avoid  resort  to  other  conceptions, 
—  as  Substance,  Attribute,  Cause.  Still,  with  these 
purely  metaphysical  and  a-prlori  ideas  added  to  the 
mathematical,  it  was  supposed  possible  for  Reason  to 
evolve  the  world  by  following  out  the  steps  of  a  dem- 
onstration. The  Necessity  of  things  was  coincident 
with  the  Necessity  of  thought :  the  nexus  of  Nature's 
development  was  the  nexus  of  logical  sequence  :  cause 
and  effect  were  identical  with  premiss  and  conclusion  : 
creation  of  being  was  discovery  of  truth  :  and  final 
causation  was  the  attainment  of  a  Q.  E.  D.  To  com- 
plete the  organism  of  such  a  system  has  been  the  vain 
ambition  of  many  a  keen  and  spacious  intellect :  and  in 
the  Ethics  of  Spinoza  and  the  Dialectic  of  llegel  the 
pretension  has,  in  modern  times,  twice  culminated  and 
twice  fallen.       The  principle  of  their  failure  is  this : 


160  NATURE  AND  GOD. 

they  did  not,  —  fur,  in  truth,  they  could  not,  —  keep 
their  promise  of  borrowing  nothing  from  experience 
and  observation,  and  working  every  thing  from  onto- 
logieal  self-evidence.  Piiysical  postulates  lurk  in  their 
metaphysical  axioms  :  and  however  ready  we  may  be  to 
admit  the  u-priori  necessity  of  such  ideas  as  "  Sub- 
stance "  and  "  Cause,"  and  so  far  to  let  them  stand  on 
the  same  list  of  primary  entities  with  "Space," — as 
Real  yet  not  empirically  Known,  Ideal  yet  not  mental 
fictions,  —  still  there  is  this  difference  ;  —  that  they  are 
intrinsically  relative  notions,  each  of  them  member  of 
u  pair,  and  that  the  other  and  correlative  term  — 
"Attribute"  antithetive  to  Substance,  "Effect"  or 
"Phenomenon"  to  Cause  —  is  simply  physical  and  an 
indispensable  condition  of  its  comj)anion.  Under  the 
cloak  therefore  of  stately  metaj)hysical  axioms,  Jis  they 
march  in  plenipotentiary  array,  concealed  entrance  is 
given  to  material  assumptions  :  and  in  the  subsequent 
logical  progress,  it  is  just  these  inductive  princi[)les 
which  cunningly  slip  out  and  lay  the  plank  across  many 
a  chasm  that  were  else  im{>as;iable.  Thus,  the  unsat- 
isfactory results  of  these  bold  attempts,  tiieir  inevitable 
slip  out  of  their  pure  Monism,  may  well  confirm  our 
reasonable  presumption,  that  nature  cannot  be  treated 
as  a  geometrical  or  logical  necessity  ;  that,  were  God 
alone  with  the  inner  Laws  of  Thought  and  the  outer 
data  of  Quantity,  no  universe  need  ever  have  been  ; 
and  that  to  evolve  the  result  intelligibly,  we  must  go 
beyond  the  assumptions  of  the  mathematics  and  meta- 
physics. In  other  words,  there  nmst  be  something  else 
than  S[)ace  objective  to  God. 

Whether  it  is  rationally  conceivable  that  God  should. 


NATURE    AND   GOD.  1(11 

—  SO    to    speak,  —  sujjj^ly  Ilimsel-f  with   obiecti'vltv, 
bv  a  "  creation  out  of"  nothing,"  —  or  whether,  as  Sir 
\V.  Hamilton  contends,   the  conception  is  absurd  and 
self-destructive,  we   need   not  pause   to  inquire.     The 
idea  is  in  any  case  discredited  by  modern  science.     It 
arose  from  an  interpretation  of  the  Mosaic  cosmogony  : 
it  belongs  to  the  doctrine  of  the  six  days  and  the  sud- 
den "beginning"  of  their  work;   and  loses  all  support, 
even   from    the    imagination,   as    soon    as  the    creative 
process    is    deprived    of    starts    and    catastrophes,   and 
construed  into  a  slow  perpetuity  of  change.     An  in- 
stantaneous   summons    of   a    Kosmos    out    of   nothing 
seems   to   require  as  its   product  a  world   j)erfected   at 
once,   in   sim})le   answer   to    the   call ;    as    the    idea   is 
enounced,  so   nuist  it   be  realized  ;    and  nothing  could 
be  more  inconjjruous  with   the  ecclesiastical   notion  of 
absolute  origination  than  that,  in  response  to  the  Crea- 
tor's Jiat  there  should  appear,  for  instance,  a  red-hot 
earth,  requiring  millions  of  years  before  its  human  and 
historic   purpose   could   even   open.       The   measure   of 
its   ulterior   progress   inevitably    becomes    the    measure 
of  its  earlier  emergence.      But  if  we  must  pronounce 
this  conception  superseded,  there  is  only  one  resource 
left  for  completing  the  needful  objectivity  to  God  ;  viz. 
to  admit,  in  some  form,  the  coeval  existence  of  matter, 
as  the  condition  and  medium  of  the  Divine  agency  and 
n)anifestation.      We  freely  allow  that  this  is  an  assump- 
tion, resting  on  quite  other  grounds  than  those  which 
support    our    belief  respecting   Space.       But    it   is   an 
hypothesis  which  neither  religion   nor   philoso[)hy,  be- 
yond  the   pantheistic   circle,  has    been   able   to   avoid ; 
which,  at  one  extreme,  Hebraism  admits  in  its  Chaos 

11 


162  NATURE   AND   GOD. 

and,  at  the  other,  Hellenism  in  the  umionv,  uniyy.ri,  to  u^ 
ov,  of  Plato,  and  the  v)j}  of  Aiiijtotlc.  Our  mental 
constitution  itself,  indeed,  seems  to  contain  a  pro- 
vision for  the  belief:  just  as  every  phenomenon,  neces- 
sitating the  idea  of  Causation,  carries  us  to  God  ;  so 
every  attribute,  necessitating  the  idea  of  Substance, 
refers  us  to  Matter.  And  all  the  physical  indications 
point  unambiguouslv  the  same  way.  Stupendous  as 
the  chronomctry  is  which  the  Geologist  [)laces  at  our 
command,  its  utmost  stretch  into  the  Past  brings  us 
apparently  no  nearer  to  a  lonely  God  :  nature  is  still 
there,  with  no  signs  of  recency,  but  still  in  the  midst 
of  changes  that  have  an  immeasurable  retrospect. 
May  we  not,  then,  fairly  say  that  the  burden  of  pro;)f 
remains  \>ith  those  who  affirm  the  absolute  origination 
of  matter  at  a  certain  or  uncertain  date?  Failins: 
the  proof,  we  are  left  with  the  Divine  Cause  and  the 
material  Condition  of  all  nature  in  eternal  coprescnce 
and  relation,  as  Supreme  subject  and  rudimentary  ob- 
ject. 

This  position,  however,  needs  some  obvious  limita- 
tions. AVe  do  not  mean,  of  course,  to  claim  perpetual 
existence  in  the  past  for  the  particular  material  ol)jects 
we  see  around  us  :  or,  for  any  of  the  kinds  of  beings 
now  extant :  or,  even  for  all  the  properties  which  mat- 
ter now  exhibits  :  for,  prior  to  the  appearance  of  organi- 
zation, for  instance,  the  physiological  qualities  and 
actions  were  not  assumed.  Stripping  off,  as  we  retire 
backward,  the  more  refined,  as  being  the  more  recent, 
modes,  and  endeavoring  to  reach  the  simplest  skeleton 
of  the  constitution  of  matter,  we  meet  with  a  familiiir 
distinction  which  may  prevent  us,  in  taking  what  logi- 


NATURE    AND    GOD.  103 

cal  necessity  requires,  from  taking  more  than  it  re- 
quires. We  refer  to  the  distinction  which  the  attacks 
of  a  purely  sensational  philosophy  and  the  neglect  of  a 
purely  deductive  only  tend  to  confirm  between  the  Pri- 
mary and  the  Secondary  qualities  of  Body.  The  former 
are  tliose  which  are  inseparable  from  the  very  idea  of 
Body,  and  may  be  evohed  a  priori  from  the  considera- 
tion of  it  as  solid  Extension  or  Extended  solidity.  The 
latter  are  those  which  we  could  not  thus  evolve  by 
reflection,  but  which,  having  no  necessary  implicntii)n 
with  the  definition  of  body,  must  be  learned,  like  all 
contingent  things,  from  experience.  To  the  former 
class,  for  instance,  belong  Trij)le  Dimension,  Divisi- 
bility, Incomprcssibility  ;  to  the  latter.  Gravity,  Soft- 
ness or  Hardness,  Smell,  Color,  &c.  As  tlie  former 
cannot  absent  themselves  from  Body,  they  have  a  reality 
coeval  with  it,  and  belong  eternally  to  the  material 
datum  objective  to  God  :  and  his  mode  of  activity  with 
regaitl  to  them  nuist  be  similar  to  that  which  alone  we 
can  think  of  his  directing  upon  the  relations  of  Space, 
viz.  not  Volitional,  to  cause  them,  but  Intellectual,  to 
tiiink  them  out.  The  Secondary  (junlitics,  on  the  other 
hand,  having  no  logical  tie  to  the  Primary,  but  being 
appended  to  them  as  contingent  ficts,  cannot  be  re- 
ferred to  any  deductive  thought,  but  remain  over  as  pro- 
ducts of  pure  Inventive  Reason  and  Determining  Will 
This  sphere  of  cognition,  a  posteriori  to  us,  —  where 
we  cannot  move  a  step  alone  but  have  submiss^ively  to 
wait  upon  experience,  is  precisely  the  realm  of  Divine 
originality:  and  we  are  most  sequacious  where  lie  is 
most  free.  While  on  this  Secondary  field  His  Mind 
and  ours  arc  thus  contrasted,  they  meet  in   resemblance 


1(54  NATURE    AND    0OI>. 

again  upon  tlic  Primary  :  for  the  evolutions  of  dedtus 
tive  Reason  there  is  but  one  track  j)Os.>;ibh!  to  all  intelli- 
gences ;  no  merum  arbitrium  can  interchange  the  false 
and  true,  or  make  more  than  one  geotnetry,  one  scheme 
of  j)ure  Physics,  for  all  worlds  :  and  the  Onmipotent 
Architect  Himself,  in  realizing  the  Kosmical  conce[)- 
tion,  in  shaping  the  orbits  out  of  immensity  and  deter- 
mining seasons  out  of  eternity,  could  but  follow  the 
laws  of  curvature,  measure,  and  proportion.  And  so, 
in  the  region  of  the  demonstrative  sciences,  to  us  tlie 
Inghest  that  mere  intellect  attains,  where  most  we  feel 
our  thought  triumphant  and  seem  to  look  down  on 
dominated  nature,  there  is  His  Mind  the  least  uncon- 
ditioned, and  there  alone  comes  into  experience  of 
necessity. 

There  is,  then,  on  the  one  side  and  the  other  of  this 
boundary-line,  a  ground  in  Nature  for  the  action  of  a 
purely  Intellectual  Divine  power,  evolving  consequences 
by  necessary  laws  of  tiiought ;  and  for  the  action  of  a 
purely  Voluntary  power,  weaving  in  wh.at  is  absolutely 
original,  and  executing  the  fiee  suggestions  of  design. 
And  there  is  a  justification  for  both  forms  of  religious 
philosophy  ;  —  that  which  attempts  the  "  a-pi'iori  road," 
which  detects  Divine  vestiges  in  the  mysterious  signifi- 
cance of  Space  and  Eternity  and  Substance,  or  in  the 
diagrams  which  suit  alike  the  terrestrial  and  celestial 
mechanics,  —  which  feels  it  a  solemn  thing  that  One 
and  the  same  Reason  pervades  the  universal  Kosmos ; 
—  and  that  which,  on  the  track  of  experience,  recog- 
nizes marvellous  combinations,  and  delights  in  the  sur- 
/»rises  of  beauty  and  design.  The  only  fault  of  either 
method  lies  in  its  self-exaggeration  and  intolerance  of 


NATUKE    AND    GOD.  1G5 

the  other.  When,  liowever,  we  come  close  to  the  ques- 
tion, in  what  way  the  Volition  of  God  applies  itself  to 
the  objective  material  on  which  it  works,  the  difficulty 
still  recurs  :  does  it  move  in  the  lines  of  nature's  gene- 
ral laws  and  forces,  so  that  each  one  of  these  has  as  it 
were  a  volition  of  itself:  or,  does  it  alight  upon  the 
concrete  and  living  results  in  individualized,  especially 
in  conscious,  and  supremely  in  moral,  beings?  If  we 
take  the  first  side  of  the  alternative,  we  throw  the  aims 
of  God  into  the  order  of  the  Inductive  analysis  of 
nature,  and  seem  to  withdraw  all  realized  things  and 
persons  from  his  contemplation  :  we  engage  him  in 
weaving  worlds  and  creatiu-es  to  which,  except  as  com- 
pounds of  a  thousand  lines  of  skill,  he  is  indifferent. 
If  we  take  the  second  side,  we  relieve  indeed  tiiis  moral 
anxiety,  but,  in  rendering  each  integral  being  the  object 
of  a  distinct  and  unitary  pur[)Ose,  we  throw  out  of 
intelligil)le  gear  the  se\eral  laws  which  science  shows 
•to  be  confluent  in  that  one  nature,  and  seem,  in  claim- 
ing them  also  for  the  Will  of  God,  to  send  the  voli- 
tions in  cross  directions. 

We  do  not  deny  that  these  conflicting  modes  of 
thought  are  hard  to  reduce  into  complete  harmony ; 
or  into  harmony  at  all  without  selecting  one  of  them  as 
of  superior  authority  and  entitled  to  exercise  a  regula- 
tive influence  over  the  other.  Were  we  never  to  look 
beyond  physico-theology,  we  believe  the  controversy 
between  the  two  would  be  perpetual ;  the  natiu-alist, 
and  every  synjpathizing  observer  of  individual  ob- 
jects and  kinds,  being  so  prevailingly  im[)ressed  with 
adaptations  of  organism  and  life  as  to  see  the  final 
causes  there ;   the  student  of  the  physical  sciences,  on 


100  NATURE    AM)    GOD. 

the  other  hand,  being  so  possessed  witli  tlic  concep- 
tion of  grand  imperial  laws  tliat  override  all  single 
integers  of  being,  as  to  deem  all  conerete  design 
subordinate  or  doubtful,  and  en<xa<xe  the  Divine  interest 
chiefly  upon  the  metiiod  and  tissue  of  the  imiversal 
order.  The  indications  of  purpose  which  Pa  ley  finds 
in  the  fitness  of  the  eye  for  its  special  use,  Baden  Powell 
rather  sees  in  the  symmetry  and  uniformity  of  the  great 
optical  laws,  which  still  speak  of  Mind,  though  they 
sweep  over  tracts  of  time  and  space  where  vision  can- 
not be.  The  scale  must  be  turned  and  the  verdict 
gained  by  appeal  to  the  Moral  sources  of  religion 
within  us.  Volition,  in  its  very  nature,  is  at  the  dis- 
posal of  Character:  and  the  character  of  God,  —  the 
order  of  aflfections  in  Him,  —  the  ends  that  are  highest 
in  regard,  —  we  learn,  not  from  the  tides,  the  strata,  or 
the  stars,  but  from  the  intimations  of  Conscience, 
and  the  distribution  of  authority  in  the  hierarchy  of 
our  impulses.  The  perfection  which  is  our  ide.il  is 
but  His  real ;  the  image  of  Him  thrown  upon  the  sen- 
sitive retina  of  the  soul  by  his  own  essential  light. 
The  moment  we  refer  to  this  interpreter,  we  know  that 
if  intellectual  tastes  are  good,  personal  affections  are 
better,  and  reverence  for  goodness  the  best  of  all :  we 
can  no  longer  dream  that  the  sense  of  symmetry,  the 
delight  in  beauty  of  thought  or  things,  can  have  para- 
mount disposal  of  the  Divine  Volition  :  we  must  recog- 
nize as  supreme  with  Him  the  Love  towards  personal 
beings  capable  of  sympathy  with  his  nature,  of  trust  in 
his  direction  and  free  aspiring  to  his  likeness.  If  the 
moral  order  of  the  universe  be  the  relninaxov  ri).n^, 
the  physical  must  stand  to  it  in   the   relation  of  an 


NATURE    AXD    GOD.  167 

instrurrient :  g-cnernl  laws  are  for  the  sake  of  particular 
beings  :  and  the  order  of  nature,  whatever  other  ends 
it  may  enihracc,  has  primary  reference  to  the  j)ersonal 
aoents  on  its  scene,  who,  in  tiie  endowment  of  freedom, 
occupy  a  position  above  nature.  Does  this  reduction 
of  the  scientific  laws  to  a  secondary  place  withdraw 
them  from  God  and  convert  them  into  his  deputies? 
Not  in  the  least :  they  are  secondary,  not  in  nearness 
to  his  Person,  but  in  rank  within  his  Thought:  and 
there  is  in  this  nothing  to  interfere  with  his  execution 
of  his  own  design,  and  letting  his  Will  be  the  only 
Force.  The  volitional  character  of  the  several  modes 
of  natural  power  does  not  require  that  they  be  willed 
upon  their  own  account,  so  that  they  carry  in  their 
aspect  the  features  and  movements  of  the  Divine  char- 
acter. As  the  methods  of  his  activity  they  variously 
traverse,  in  their  classification,  the  grouping  of  his 
purposes.  He  is  immanent  in  Nature  :  but  his  real  lifu 
is  known  only  beyond  Natin-e.  To  believe  the  first 
alone  of  these  clauses  is  Pagan,  to  believe  the  sec- 
ond alone  is  evangelical  ;  Christian  philosophy  must 
blend  them  both. 

There  is,  however,  a  limit  beyond  which  we  find  it 
difficult  to  carry  out,  with  satisfactory  clearness  of 
conception,  the  doctrine  of  God's  Immediate  agency  in 
nature.  The  secondary  qualities  of  matter,  the  "  physi- 
cal forces  "  of  the  world,  may  readily  be  regarded  as 
mere  disguises  or  mere  signs  of  Himself.  But  Uoing 
beings  can  hardly  be  conceived  as  simply  the  nidus 
of  power  not  their  own,  —  the  organism  theirs,  the 
function,  not.  We  cannot  follow  Descartes  in  treating 
them  as  mere  automata.     Their  whole  distinctive  sig- 


168  NATURE    AXD   GOD- 

nificance  lies  in  tlicir  being  separate  centres  of  at  least 
incipient  individuality  ;  and  to  rejjresent  them  as  only 
nie<lia  of"  a  Divine  incarnation  is  offensive  alike  to 
science  and  to  religion.  Here,  then,  it  seems  impos- 
sible to  dispense  with  the  idea  of  delegated  power, 
detached  by  one  remove  from  the  universal  source, 
and  lent  out  for  a  term  of  life  to  work  the  conditions 
of  a  distinct  existence.  The  instincts  and  sponta- 
neities of  animals  constitute  a  true  Divine  guidance, 
adjusted  as  they  are  in  accurate  relation  to  their  exter- 
nal [)0siti()n,  and  restrained  within  definite  limits  of 
possibility :  but  this  very  method  and  preconception 
imply  an  abstinence  for  the  time  being  of  direct  and 
momentary  volition,  and  a  consignment  of  the  whole 
phenomena,  in  group  or  system,  to  a  determinate  "na- 
ture" or  "constitution."  The  difference  is  perhaps, 
after  all,  incident  only  to  our  point  of  view,  and  would 
disappear  could  we  contemplate  the  world  "  under  the 
form  of  eternity."  We  live  down  from  moment  to 
moment ;  we  deliver  forth  our  volitions  one  by  one 
in  linear  detail ;  Ave  have  expeiience  enabling  us  to 
interpret  generic  acts  of  Will  inclusive  of  comi)lcxiry 
of  relations  and  a  jiersistence  in  time  :  and  cannot  })re- 
sent  to  ourselves  the  Divine  power  running  into  fixe<l 
types,  or  trace  the  deep-rooted  unity  of  these  seeming 
islands  in  the  sea  of  things  with  the  continuous  conti- 
nent of  the  Infinite  Will.  Be  it  remembered  too,  th;it 
there  are  two  kinds  of  union  with  God,  —  dynamic  and 
moral  ;  and  that  moral  union  requires  dynamic  separa- 
tion ;  which  accordingly  widens  as  we  ascend  in  tlie 
scale  of  being,  till  a  true  Self,  —  a  free  Personality,  — 
appears,  sufficiently  beyond  the  verge  of  Nature  to  give 


NAIURE    AND    GOD.  160 

an  answering  look  to  tlie  very  face  of  the  Most  Iligli. 
At  tills  culminating  extreme  we  have  a  real  trust  of 
independence,  —  subjectivity  perfected,  —  causality  real- 
ized. At  the  other  and  initial  extreme  where  the  mate- 
rial datum  lies,  we  have  passive  potentiality,  —  mere 
objectivity,  causality  not  yet  begun.  Between  this 
infranatural  commencement  and  supernatural  end,  tlic 
Creative  agency  moves,  to  build  and  animate  tlie  mighty 
whole  which  we  call  Nature  ;  at  each  advance  receding 
from  the  bare  I'cceptivity  of  matter,  and  appi'oaching, 
through  the  spontaneous  vital  energies,  the  actual  indi- 
viduality of  pei'sonal  existence.  In  this  great  cycle, 
Matter  is  the  negative  condition  of  Divine  power ; 
Force,  its  positive  exercise  ;  Life,  its  delegation  under 
limits  of  necessity  ;  AVill,  under  coiicessijn  of  freedom. 
And  if  we  may  venture  to  speak  of  a  yet  higher  stage 
which  evades  the  reach  of  words,  —  that  saintly  posture 
of  the  soul  which  Scripture  designates  by  the  term 
Spirit,  may  we  not  say,  it  is  the  conscious  return,  by 
free  identification,  of  every  delegated  power  into  har- 
mony with  its  Source?  And  so,  the  dynamic  removal 
finds  its  end  in  moral  unity. 

But  these  questions  deepen  and  widen  under  our 
]\and  ;  and  we  must  close  them.  We  have  endea^-ored 
to  throw  a  line  or  two  across  the  gulf  which  unhappily 
divides  the  savans  from  the  theologians  of  our  day. 
Whether  any  communication  will  pass  along  theui  we 
do  not  ])resume  to  say.  But  of  this  we  are  sure  ;  — 
that  the  alienation  they  seek  to  remedy  can  be  but  tran- 
sitory, having  no  foundation  in  the  nature  of  things, 
arising  only  in  the  crossing  lights  and  illusory  darkness 
of  human  fancy.     Inasmuch  as  Deductive  Science  rep- 


170  NATURE    AND   GOD. 

resents  the  Order  of  God's  intellect.  Inductive  Science 
the  methods  of  his  ai^ency,  IMoral  Science  the  purpose 
of  his  Will,  the  blendinij  of  their  voices  in  one  y-lorious 
hymn  is  as  certain  as  the  Oneness  of  his  nature  and  the 
symmetry  of  his  Universe  :  and  it  must  be  a  very  poor 
Science  and  a  very  poor  lieliijfion  that  delay  by  discord 
tlic  approach  of  that  great  harmony. 


171 


SCIENCE,  NESCIENCE,  AND  FAITH* 


Ir  we  intended  to  review  either  of  these  books,  we 
should  not  name  them  both.  Each  of  them  has  a 
scope  too  vast  for  the  span  of  our  critical  measurement. 
The  Reviewer's  steps  are  short  and  few,  and  would 
soon  be  lost  in  Mr.  Maurice's  five  centuries  of  Meta- 
physics ;  still  more  in  following  Mr.  Spencer's  genesis 
of  the  universe  from  chaos  to  the  Crimean  war.  In 
the  historical  work,  suffice  it  to  sa^',  the  student  will 
find  a  faithful  guide  to  the  deeper  literature  and  life 
of  modern  Europe  ;  copious  in  knowledge,  catholic  in 
judgment,  genial  in  spirit;  betrayed,  i)erhaps,  here 
and  there  into  some  waywardness  and  disproportion 
by  sin  impatience  of  psychology,  and  a  distrust  of  all 
"human  notions"  that  have  become  systeuiatic  and 
exact ;  but  essentially  true  to  the  genius  of  great  rep- 
resentative writers  even  in  the  most  op[)osite  times. 
In  the  speculative  book  of  First  Principles,  we  have 

*  First  Principles.  B3'  Herbert  Spencer,  Autlior  of  "  Social  Statics," 
"The  Principles  of  Psychology,"  &c.  London:  Williams  niul  Xortjnte. 
1862. 

^lodcm  Philosophy;  or,  a  Treatise  on  Moral  and  ^Ictaphysical  Philoso- 
phy fi-oni  the  Fourteenth  Century  tc  the  French  devolution;  with  a  (JTuipse 
in  to  the  Nineteenth  Century.  By  the  Kev.  Frederick  Deuison  31aurice,  M.A. 
London:  Griffin,  Bohn,  and  Co.     1862. 

National  Kevievr,  Oct.,  1862. 


172  SCIEXCi:,    XKSCICNCE,    AND    FAITH. 

SI  kind  uf  pi'osc  Lucretius  ;  :ui  ntteuipt  to  sliow,  both 
by  inductive  gcueiiiliziition  t'n)n»  adniittcnl  laws,  and  l)y 
a-priori  inference  from  the  ideas  ot"  Matter  and  Force, 
liow  the  Kosnios,  natural  and  human,  has  evolvc<l 
itself,  and,  on  the  assumption  of  a  homogeneous  nebu- 
lar start'  to  begin  with,  must  have  become  what  we  find 
it  to  be.  To  those  who  are  versed  in  scientific  litera- 
ture, the  mere  statement  of  the  thesis  will  characterize 
the  work.  Enter[)rises  of  so  bold  a^swcep  rcc^ommcnd 
themselves  only  to  minds  that  have  unbounded  confi- 
dence in  logical  architecture,  and  can  venture,  with 
u  few  wcll-shai)ed  abstractions  at  the  base,  to  l)uild 
and  arch  to  any  height.  They  are  uncongenial  with 
the  cautious  temper  of  the  practised  observer :  and 
dilfer  in  their  vastness  and  vagueness  from  those  special 
vaticinations  in  which,  more  by  glance  than  by  experi- 
ment, a  Newton,  an  Okcn,  or  a  Goetlie  may  <lcciphcr 
the  style  of  nature.  They  are  neither  the  percep- 
li\e  readings  of  a  genius  intimate  with  the  woild, 
nor  a  bond  fide  generalization  taking  up  into  itself 
without  fear  or  favor  all  the  threads  of  ascertained 
order ;  but  a  framework  of  hypothesis,  constructed 
from  the  metaphysical  terms  in  which  science  is  obliged 
to  speak,  and  filled-in  ad  lihllam  with  such  picked 
phenomena  from  every  field  as  may  symmetrically  lit. 
In  such  a  scheme,  the  masses  of  fact  presented,  though 
occupying  the  main  area,  are  of  subordinate  moment 
to  the  lines  of  thought :  and  Mr.  Spencer  himself,  wo 
are  convinced,  would  have  attained  no  trust  in  his 
Kosmogony,  had  he  not,  in  the  true  spirit  of  a  logical 
enthusiast,  felt  his  footing  sure  on  his  a-pviori  ground. 
But  for  this,  the  enormous  disproportion  (oppressive 


SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND   FAITH.  173 

^nonp:h  even  on  ]Mr.  Darwin's  limited  field  —  the  mere 
"  Origin  of  Species  ")  between  the  weight  of  the  con- 
clusion .nnd  the  tenuity  of  the  induction  must  have 
o\  erpowered  him  ;  and  he  must  have  doubted  the  use 
of  dressing-up  a  few  score  of  plausible  appearances 
with  a  whole  universe  of  phenomena  out  of  the  reckon- 
ing altogether.  For  our  own  part,  we  must  confess 
that  this  new  book  of  Genesis  ap[)ears  to  us  no  more 
credible  than  the  old.  While  its  doctrine  is  too  big 
for  physical  ])rooff  it  is  of  the  wrong  kind  fi)r  meta- 
physical. Wc  should  as  soon  think  of  giving  an  a- 
priori  receipt  for  a  pudding,  as  for  a  solar  system  or 
a  jelly-fish.  If  mere  intellectual  force  could  conquer 
an  intrinsically  unmanageable  task,  it  would  yield  to 
the  pfowess  of  our  author.  With  the  resources  of 
a  scientific  culture  he  unites  a  severe  logical  habit,  an 
originality  of  combination,  and  a  precision  of  exposi- 
tory method,  to  which  no  reader  can  be  insensible ; 
and  which  want  nothing  but  a  securer  set  of  first 
jn-inciples  to  justify  the  somewhat  positive  tone  of  self- 
reliance  characteristic  of  him,  as  of  most  system-build- 
ing intellects. 

Passing  by,  however,  the  substantive  matter  of  both 
!Mr.  Maurice's  history  and  Mr.  Spencer's  Kosmogony, 
we  fix  attention  on  a  single  fundamental  probhiin, 
which  has  a  pervading  influence  on  both  works,  and 
receives  from  them  contradictory  answers.  AV  hat  is 
the  hiiihest  lejiitimate  object  of  Keason  in  man?  Is  lie 
precluded  from  j)assing  beyond  the  finite  order  of 
"co-existences  and  successions,"  which  Science  scru- 
tinizes and  delines?  or,  is  he  capable  of  aj)prehending 
the  Infinite  Cause  behind,  of  which  Keligion  speaks? 


174  SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND   FAITH. 

Mr.  ]\laurioe  not  only  believes  tluit  knowiedjfo  of 
Divine  Reality  is  possible,  and  is  j^iven,  but  looka 
upon  the  whole  course  of  human  history  and  thou'jjht 
as  its  witness  and  illustration.  Mr.  Spencer  not  only 
rejects  as  failures  all  attempts  hitherto  to  cross  the 
confines  of  phenomena,  but  undertakes  to  prove  that 
the  human  mind  has  no  or<^an  for  cojj^nizance  of  the 
Supreme  Cause  :  so  that  Keliiri(^n  resolves  itself  into 
the  acknowledgment  of  an  inscrutable  background,  iu 
front  of  which  all  the  luminous  shapes  of  knovvledire 
have  their  l)lay.  While  the  one  writer  sees  in  the 
working  of  devout  wonder  and  the  sense  of  an  eternal 
living  thought  the  mainspring  of  all  intellectual  search, 
the  other  deplores  the  darkening  influence  of  sacred 
ideas  upon  the  human  understanding,  and  oj)[)i)ses 
Science  to  IJeligion  as  the  known  to  the  unknown  — 
the  perceptions  of  day-light  to  the  dreams  of  night. 

We  have  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Spencer  represents,  in 
this  doctrine,  the  prevailing  sentiment  of  living  sci- 
entific men,  and  the  tendency  which  for  some  time  to 
come  will  gain  force  against  all  resistance.  It  is  a 
necessary  ])rice  which  we  must  pay  in  re-establishing 
the  distinction  and  just  relation  between  the  sphere  of 
phenomena  and  that  out  of  which  phenomena  come  ; 
between  also  the  faculties  in  us  which  appiehcnd  the 
one,  and  those  which  are  organs  for  the  other.  We 
have  not  yet  escaped  a  period,  co-extensive  with  the 
history  of  Christianity,  during  which,  from  blindness 
to  this  distinction,  religion  has  identified  itself  with 
interpretations  of  nature  now  known  to  be  false  ;  and 
it  must  suflcr  the  re-Jiction  against  a  discredited  prophet 
unable  to  make  good  his  word.      Compare  the  i)iLturc 


SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND   FAITH.  175 

of  the  universe  in  the  imagination  of  a  Ilersiclie],  a 
Lyell,  a  Darwin,  with  the  same  scene  as  disposed  in  the 
thought  of  Isaiah,  of  Paul,  of  Chrysostoni :  h)ok  at 
tlie  celestial  architecture  of  the  Apocalypse,  and  then  at 
what  the  telescope  reveals  :  think  what  is  implied  in  the 
mere  conception  of  a  "Solar  system,"  and  the  changed 
classification  from  "  Heaven  and  Earth  "  to  "  Suns  and 
Planets  : "  remember  that  with  the  disappearance  of 
the  supernal  halls  from  the  sky,  and  of  the  abyss  with 
its  infernal  chains  from  the  subterraneous  strata,  a  host 
of  inhabitants  are  dislodged,  and  fallen  angels  ami 
imprisoned  spirits  and  tormenting  fiends  lose  them- 
selves in  the  cold  void  :  and  can  you  wonder  that,  on 
the  one  hand,  Augustine  would  hear  nothing  of  antip- 
odes, or  Home  of  the  Co[)ernican  idea,  or  the  Dean 
of  York  of  the  geologicMJ  ;  or,  on  the  other,  that  those 
who  had  dissolved  the  fictitious  palace  of  the  Most 
High  should  sujjpose  they  had  discovered  a  mere  dark- 
ness or  a  blank  within?  The  modern  redistribution 
of  the  kosmical  bodies  in  s[)a(:e  undeniably  involves 
a  total  break-u[)  of  conceptions  ])reviously  guaranteed 
by  sacred  authority.  So,  too,  with  regard  to  the 
origin  of  the  universe  in  time.  What  has  become  of 
the  date  which  many  of  us  learned  at  school:  "B.C. 
4004,  Creation  of  the  world"?  Limit  the  term 
"world"  as  you  will,  suppose  it  to  say  nothing  but 
of  this  planet ;  still,  with  what  amazement  nuist  we 
now  look  back  on  tiie  i)ractice  of  entering  its  birth  in 
the  annual  register,  like  the  battles  and  budgets  and 
debates  that  make  u[)  a  Times  New-Year's  Day  retro- 
spect !  Into  what  magnitude  has  that  "  chief  event 
of  a   ycjir"   opened    before    us  I      \\'alking    through   a 


17^  feCIKNCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND   FAITH. 

geological  inuseuin,  and  estimating  its  interviils  by 
what  unit  of  time  wc  j)leju«e,  we  not  only  discover  the 
"Creation  of  the  world,"  —  like  a  Chancery  suit, — 
to  be  "rather  a  process  than  an  event,"  but  are  con- 
etraincd  to  give  it  an  asymptote  for  its  measure, 
arriving  at  our  own  position  from  out  of  an  inde- 
terminate immensity.  Instead  of  being  the  flash  of 
a  moment,  or  a  week,  from  which  the  great  periods 
of  national  vicissitude  on  the  world  may  be  shar[)ly 
reckoned,  it  breaks  into  indefinite  duration,  and  they 
shrink  into  a  p!)int.  Yet  they,  too,  have  rebelled 
against  the  limits  we  had  allowed  them  ;  and  human 
history,  while  dwarfed  by  physical,  asks,  with  every 
new  discovery,  for  larger  room  and  more  numerous 
centuries  in  our  imagination.  After  every  allowance 
for  uncertainty  in  the  earliest  vestiges  of  humanity, 
th'!  concurrent  evidence  of  Egyptian  archaiology,  of 
the  laws  and  affinities  of  language,  of  comparative 
religion,  .and  of  the  stone  im[)1emcnts,  if  not  more 
positive  remains  of  man,  found  in  not  the  most  recent 
deposits,  nuist  be  held  to  imj)ly  an  indefinitely  more 
remote  beginning  and  more  gradual  development  of 
our  race  upon  the  earth  than  wc  had  been  taught  to 
believe. 

The  .alteration  thus  introduced  into  our  modes  of 
conception  is  the  same  throughout.  Larger  space, 
longer  time,  slower  movement,  finer  gradation,  than 
we  had  dreamed  of,  have  everywhere  to  be  admitted. 
Among  objects,  nothing  isolated  ;  in  events,  nothing 
(Budden ;  a  web  of  infinitely  extended  relations,  in 
which  this  is  part  of  the  same  mesh  with  that;  a  his- 
tory of  infinitely  divisible   changes,   in   which   to-day 


SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND    FAITH.  177 

is  born  of  yesterday,  and  the  sluftinu:  shadows  glide 
and  never  leap ;  —  these  are  the  new  aspects  under 
which  modern  knowknlge  presents  the  system  of  the 
world.  And  though  it  still  leaves  vast  lacuiue  where, 
it' you  insist  on  it,  you  may  find  room  for  things  unique 
and  lonely,  and  starts  of  existence  ^jer  saltuni  ;  yet, 
as  these  gaps  are  being  steadily  filled  in,  and  look  just 
like  older  chasms  wiiere  similar  fancies  lie  in  ruin  and 
now  visibly  grassed  over,  there  arises  an  increasing 
presumption  against  exceptional  crises  of  surprise. 
Hence,  on  the  whole,  we  are  passing  over  to  the  idea 
of  evolution,  rather  than  creation ;  of  a  creeping 
upwards,  little  by  little,  in  place  of  a  leap  out  of 
nothing  ;  of  the  lower  type  of  i)henomenon  preceding 
the  higher,  and  the  better  coming  out  of  the  worse. 
Nor  can  any  well-informed  man  seriously  doubt  that 
in  this  idea  the  order  of  genesis  is  more  truly  repre- 
sented,  than   in  that  which  it  replaces. 

What  is  the  meaning,  what  especially  the  religious 
bearing,  of  this  change?  It  is  essentially  an  assertion 
of  neglected  rights  on  the  part  of  JVature ;  —  that 
sphere  of  unconscious  f/roivfh,  wiiich  has  always  been 
recognized  as  copresent  with  Man  and  God,  the  beings 
of  conscious  thought  and  power;  but  has  not  always 
received  the  attention  due  to  an  immeasurable  emi>ire 
and  an  everlasting  law.  Christianity  in  particular 
was,  from  its  very  essence,  so  absorbed  with  tlie  innue- 
diatc  relation  between  Man  and  God,  as  to  look  upon 
the  universe  as  the  mere  theatre  of  tlicir  alienation  and 
re-unlon,  —  the  visible  .sfrif/e  of  a  moral  drama, — the 
scene  built  up,  above,  below,  for  the  solenm  tragedy 
of  human  probation  and  Divine  Justice,  and  rellccting 

12 


17B  SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND   FAITH. 

in  its  lights  and  glooms  the  clianging  phases  of  the 
plot.  It  was  but  the  tabernacle  raised  for  the  abode 
ot  spiritual  beings,  —  the  heavens  "a  tent"  for  the 
Eternal  "  to  dwell  in," — the  earth  a  hospice  for  the  Mor- 
tiil  to  lodge  in  ;  sprung  from  the  fiat  of  yesterday, 
dis8olve<l  by  that  of  to-morrow,  and  meanwhile  pliant 
alike  to  the  steady  purpose  or  the  sudden  occasions 
of  the  Almighty  Will.  However  true  and  needful 
was  this  claim  of  transcendent  reality  for  Moral  re- 
lations and  living  JNIinds,  it  doubtless  made  too  little 
of  the  kosmical  system,  usurped  its  rights  and  miscon- 
ceived its  ways  ;  and  scarcely  left  any  adequate  interest 
attaching  to  the  patient  scrutiny  of  its  facts  and  laws. 
For  such  tranquil  pursuits  we  need  an  absence  of  pas- 
sionate problems  and  the  presence  of  a  durable  world  : 
and  we  cannot  imagine  in  a  Tertullian  the  researches 
of  an  Aristotle,  or  transfer  to  a  Carlstadt  the  reason- 
ings of  a  Galileo.  At  last,  however,  in  re-action  from 
the  exclusive  ascendancy  of  the  Christian  idea.  Nature 
resumes  her  place  —  it  may  be,  more  than  her  place ; 
shows  her  uniformities  spreading  everywhere  through 
space  and  time ;  pushes  her  claims  far  up  into  the 
being  of  man  himself;  and  requires  us  to  think  again 
what  it  is  that  irremovably  belongs  to  God. 

'J'he  answer  to  this  question  appears  to  us  simple : 
Science  discloses  the  Method  of  the  world,  but  not  its 
cause ;  Religion,  its  Cause,  but  not  its  method  :  and 
there  is  no  conflict  between  them,  except  when  either 
forgets  its  ignorance  of  what  the  other  alone  can  know. 

AVhen,  for  instance,  the  old  book  of  Genesis  an- 
nounces God  as  the  Cause  of  all,  it  speaks  the  language 
of  pure  Religion,  which  cannot  be  traversed  or  met, 


SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND    FAITH.  179 

except  behind  the  field  of  mere  phenomena.  When  it 
relates  that  it  took  six  days  to  make  tlie  universe,  and 
recounts  what  was  done  on  each  ;  how,  first,  Day  and 
Kight,  then  Heaven  and  Earth,  then  Land  and  Sea, 
were  parted  from  each  other ;  how,  between  tlie  crea- 
tion of  v.egetable  and  animal  life,  the  greater  and  lesser 
lights  were  set  aloft ;  how  the  water  and  the  air  were 
peopled  before  the  solid  ground,  and  man  came  last 
of  all  to  rule  the  other  tribes  and  live  upon  tlie  fruits  of 
tlie  field  ;  —  in  all  this,  it  essays  the  language  of  Sci- 
ence, and  is  open  to  correction  from  every  fresh  reading 
of  the  order  and  method  of  the  world.  And  so,  when 
the  modern  book  of  Genesis  wants  years  by  the  million 
tor  every  day  of  that  Creation-week  ;  when  it  deals 
with  spaces  in  which  ten  thousand  of  those  "  firma- 
ments "  would  be  lost ;  when  it  alters  all  the  elements 
and  transposes  all  the  order,  and  distributes  to  be  done 
for  ever  what  had  been  gathered  up  to  be  despatched 
at  once  ;  when  it  substitutes  a  perpetuity  of  birth  and 
death  in  things  for  an  outburst  of  creative  labor  suc- 
ceeded by  eternal  rest;  —  in  all  this,  it  also  speaks 
what  Science  has  a  right  to  say,  though  it  comj)cls  all 
the  prophets  to  retract  and  apostles  to  sit  still  and 
learn.  But  if,  on  the  strength  of  this  right,  it  goes  on 
to  say,  "these  ways  of  nature  are  all  in  all,  and  behind 
them  there  is  nought  for  man  to  apprehend,"  vt  usuri)s 
a  fimction  not  its  own,  and  affirms  that  whit-h  lies  not 
less  beyond  its  competency  than  was  the  Newtonian 
astronomy  beyond  that  of  the  Hebrew  kosmogonist. 
No  discoveries  of  method  touch  the  rpicstion  of  causa- 
tion. Whetiier  the  way  of  procednre  l)e  f/iis  or  bo 
thai,  be  such   as  we   now  think,  or  such   as  once  was 


180  SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND    FAITH. 

fancied,  or  such  other  as  mny  hereafter  he  conceived, 
is  indifferent  to  the  backgroun*!  of  Reality,  which 
throws  the  procedure  forth.  As  religion  has  no  voice 
about  the  order  of  phenomena,  conversely,  the  order 
of  ]>henonjena  has  nothing  to  say  about  religion  :  they 
sit  ])erfectly  clear  of  each  other  :  nor  is  any  delusion 
more  absolute  than  the  notion  that  the  one  can  ever 
contradict  the  other.  Causality,  with  which  alone 
religion  in  this  relation  has  to  do,  is  not  amenable  to 
the  same  facidties  that  take  cognizance  of  method, — 
those  by  which  we  perceive,  compare,  arrange :  it 
cannot  be  heard,  smelt,  or  seen  :  no  lens  can  fetch 
it  into  view  ;  no  generalization  reach  further  than  its 
effects  ;  no  chissification  grasp  more  than  its  outward 
expressions.  It  is  no  object  of  sense ;  or  of  inference 
from  any  combination  of  the  data  of  sense :  and  a 
merely  observing,  sifting,  disciMuiinating  mind,  how- 
ever keen  its  perceptions,  however  delicate  its  feeling 
of  resemblance  and  difference,  could  never  come  across 
it.  It  may  —  nay  must  —  be  thought:  it  may  be 
named  :  but  it  is  added  on  by  the  intellect  to  the  ex- 
periences of  perception  ;  not  drawn  by  the  intellect  out 
of  them.  It  is  by  an  iimer  necessity  of  Keason  that 
we  refer  all  phenomena,  single  or  grouped,  dis[)osed 
into  this  picture  or  into  that,  scattered  in  negligence, 
or  reduced  by  induction,  to  an  originating  Power : 
and  precisely  at  this  point  it  is,  where  Science  has 
already  come  to  an  end,  that  Iicligion  begins,  and 
undertakes  to  speak  of  that  which  remains  when  the 
account  of  phenomena  is  closed. 

Seeing,  then,  that  the  two  spheres  have  no  contact, 
or  contact  only  at  a  point,  it  is   not  less  futile  to  im- 


SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND    FAITH.  181 

aginc  atlieistical  encroachment  from  physical  knou'ledge 
tlian  to  he  afraid  lest  the  tanuent  should  cut  a  sUce 
out  of  the  circle.  The  more  we  discover,  the  more 
phenomena  will  there  he  crying  out  for  their  Cause. 
Is  their  field  widened  every  way  ?  so  much  the  more 
aiiuust  must  his  imiversal  presence  be.  Is  their  suc- 
cession immeasurably  older?  so  much  the  sublimer 
wiiat  we  conceive  of  his  duration.  Is  their  symmetry 
more  exact  and  their  cycle  more  determinable  ?  so 
much  the  surer  the  order  of  his  thouglit.  Is  the 
method  of  their  issue,  not  by  paroxysms  of  omnipotence, 
but  by  perpetual  flow  of  power  stealing  to  the  roots  of 
things?  then  does  the  Genesis  cease  to  be  historical, 
and  we  are  at  it  ourselves  ;  and  may  read  it  no  longer 
in  the  preterite,  but  in  the  progressive  tense  ;  saying 
not  that  once  he  did  create,  but  that  now  and  always 
he  is  cveatiDfj  the  heavens  and  the  earth.  If  the 
Theist  was  ever  right,  according  to  the  measure  of  his 
day,  assuredly  nothing  has  lieen  found  out  to  put  him 
in  the  wrong.  If  the  poor  little  universe  that  over- 
arciied  the  tents  of  Abram,  and  hail  been  there  only 
for  a  few  generations,  mnde  its  claim  felt  to  be  of 
origin  Divine,  it  certainly  has  not  forfeited  that  claim 
by  {)refixing  to  its  age  the  reaches  of  geologic  time, 
deepening  around  it  the  heaven  of  Xewton,  and  sus- 
jjending  itself  in  the  balances  of  Clairaut. 

'But  was  the  Theist  ever  right?'  it  may  be  asked. 
Granting  that  science  makes  his  case  no  worse,  and 
can  never  acquire  a  title  to  contradict  him,  still  we 
may  inquire  what,  intrinsically,  is  his  case?  A\  hat 
can  we  say,  and  on  what  warrant,  respecting  that 
hivisible  sphere  of  Power  behind  phenomena? 


182  SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND   FAITH. 

Tliat  something  mny  be  truly  said  about  the  Cause 
of  things  has  been  rarely  questioned,  since  the  New 
Academy  ceased  to  parade  its  doctrine  of  universal 
nescience.  Men  have  spoken  in  terms  different  enough: 
but,  far  from  saying  "we  cannot  tell,"  have  variously 
affirmed,  (1)  Nature  has  a  Divine  Author;  (2)  Na- 
ture has  no  Divine  Author;  (3)  Nature  is  Divine, 
and  its  own  Author  :  and  these  several  doctrines  have 
been  discussed  upon  common  principles  and  on  objec- 
tive grounds,  in  perfect  assurance  that  somehow  or 
other  the  controversy  was  rationally  terminable,  and 
truth  attainable.  If  there  was  any  thing  on  wliich,  in 
this  matter,  Theist,  Atheist,  Pantheist  demonstrably 
agreed,  it  was  surely  this,  —  that  the  problem  on  which 
they  all  engaged  was  amenable  to  thought,  and  might 
be  solved.  P^lse,  why  plunge  into  it,  and  pronounce 
upon  it?  Without  tlic  assumption  that  knowledge  is 
j)ossible,  the  very  attitude  of  quest  is  imp:)S.sil)le.  Yet 
Mr.  Spencer,  analyzing  the  doctrines  of  these  three 
men,  and  discharging  all  their  mutual  discordances, 
finds  them  all  concur  in  this,  —  that  the  object  of  their 
search  is  hopelessly  out  of  reach,  in  a  darkness  beyond 
the  limits  of  thought  itself.  It  is  a  bold  feat  of  eclec- 
ticism to  sift  out  any  common  "soul  of  truth"  at  all 
from  the  two  contradictory  propositions  of  Theist  and 
Atheist :  but  to  make  it  consist  in  precisely  what  each, 
by  its  very  existence,  excludes,  —  to  draw  a  declara- 
tion of  nescience  from  two  positive  professions  of 
knowledge,  implies  an  almost  Hegelian  dexterity  of  logi- 
cal cross-examination.  We  must  say  it  seems  to  us 
a  burlesque  application  of  the  questionable  maxim, — • 
every  human  belief  has  a  "soul   of  truth,"  —  to  take 


SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND    FAITH.  183 

lip  not  only  inconsistent  opinions,  but  positions  of 
which  one  must  be  true  and  the  other  false,  and  by 
j)retendiiig  to  dissolve  their  variances,  precipitate  the 
residuary  "soul."  The  process  cannot  be  soundly 
carried  through.  Between  "  Yes "  and  "No"  there  is 
nothing-  common.  If  you  discharge  their  differences, 
one  of  them  disappears.  If  you  save  any  thing  from 
both,  the  falsehood  and  contrariety  are  uneliminated 
still.  You  may  choose,  but  cannot  compromise,  be- 
tween them  :  and  if  there  be  a  delusive  show  of  some 
joint  element,  it  can  only  be  gained  through  sophis- 
tical manipulation  of  the  propositions,  inserting  by 
implication  what  is  required  to  be  got  out  again  by  ex- 
plication. We  could  allow  something  to  our  author's 
argument,  if  he  turned  it  round  and  rested  it  on  the 
real  dissidence,  instead  of  the  pretended  concord,  of 
ontological  beliefs  ;  if,  with  Bossuet  in  his  Variations 
of  I*rotestants,  he  said,  'the  truth  is  in  none  of  you; 
for  truth  is  one  :  and  you  are  all  at  sixes  and  sevens, 
and  have  not  a  shred  of  unity  to  show.'  But  to  bring 
into  court  three  differing  men,  each  sure  that  he  knows, 
and  tell  them,  'the  truth  is  in  all  of  yon;  for  you  all 
mean  to  say,  that  you  are  quite  in  the  dark,'  is  a  strange 
combination  of  paradox  and  reproach. 

The  position  which  is  thus  curiously  gathered  from 
the  critique  of  opposite  opinions,  —  viz.  that  the  Su- 
preme Cause  is  incognizable,  —  is  not  left,  however, 
without  support  from  more  direct  and  positive  reason- 
ing. On  this  we  must  say  a  few  words.  I'he  hardy 
old-fashioned  Atheist  used  to  say  outright,  'There  is 
no  God,'  and  forthwith  to  set  his  faculties  and  yours  at 
work  upon  the  problem,  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  it. 


184  SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND    FAITH. 

Of  late,  —  thanks  to  Sir  W.  Hamilton,  —  we  have 
fallen  upon  a  more  refined  and  idealized  form  of  the 
same  doctrine,  a  purely  subjective  atheism,  which  leaves 
with  the  Divine  Reality  permission  to  be,  but  withdraws 
fit)m  us  the  power  to  know;  and  says, — 'Appre- 
hensible by  us  there  is  no  God.'  The  trial  of  the  case 
is  thus  removed  from  the  outer  court  of  existence, 
where  we  seek  the  limits  of  real  being,  to  the  inner 
tribunal  of  psychology  and  logic,  where  we  investigate 
the  limits  of  human  reason.  There  is  certainly  a 
modest  look  in  thus  apparently  contracting  the  problem 
within  a  narrower  circle  and  brin<jin<;  it  home  to  the 
familiar  seat  of  our  self-knowledge  :  and  it  has  a  sound 
of  meekness  to  say,  *  AVe  pretend  not  to  make  our  line 
the  measure  of  things  as  they  are ;  beyond  its  end 
there  is  the  unfathomable  still :  only  we  find  that  it 
stops  short  of  God ;  and  if  he  be,  it  is  in  the  abyss 
we  cannot  reach.'  Yet  we  greatly  doubt  whether  the 
seeming  simplification  is  not  sophistical,  and  the  hu- 
mility a  self-deception.  The  limits  of  thought  are  not 
in  effect  easier  to  determine  than  the  limits  of  being : 
and  the  battles  once  fought  on  the  field  of  Metaphysics 
are  renewed,  one  by  one,  and  fought  over  again  on  the 
field  of  Logic  :  nor  have  Locke  and  Kant,  with  their 
critique  of  faculty,  closed  a  single  (jucstion  previously 
opened  by  the  contemplation  of  existence.  The  haunt- 
ing old  realities,  Space,  Substance,  Lssence,  Cause, 
are  not  got  rid  of  by  stop[)ing  in  our  own  chamber  and 
refusing  to  go  forth  among  them  :  tliey  re-appear  in 
their  shadows  on  the  floor  and  their  reflections  on  the 
wall ;  and  in  the  dress  of  (t'priori  thoughts  awaken 
the  same  faith  or  scepticism  which  they  had  provoked 


SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND    FAITH.  185 

on  the  field  of  necessary  being.  Suppose  it,  liowever, 
to  be  otherwise  :  supj)Ose  tlic  cognitive  limits  iiccurately 
defined  :  suppose  the  line  separating  the  [)Ossible  light 
from  the  irremovable  darkness  incontrovcrtibly  drawn. 
AVhat  then?  in  order  to  fall  on  the  right  side  of  the 
line,  an  object  must  comply  witli  certain  conditions  : 
and  conversely,  before  you  exclude  it,  you  must  be 
.able  to  deny  those  conditions.  But  how  can  you  do 
this  of  an  object  quite  unknown  ?  by  what  right  do  you 
prejudge  a  hidden  reality,  and  so  give  or  refuse  it 
j)redicatcs  as  to  assign  its  place?  Is  it  not  plain  that, 
in  declaring  it  absolutely  inscrutable,  you  assume  it  to 
be  partially  known?  and  that,  like  children  in  some 
blindfold  game,  you  have  taken  a  peep  at  it  before 
lettini;  it  <;o  into  the  dark  and  i)rofessino:  that  vou 
cannot  see  it  at  all?  It  is  but  the  semblance  of  intel- 
lectual humility,  which  must  thus  presume  a  knowledge 
in  order  to  disclaim  it. 

The  doctrine  of  religious  nescience  has  been  ren- 
dered so  familiar  by  Mr.  Mansel,  as  to  belong  to  the 
common  stock  of  contemj>orary  thought,  and  to  make 
any  full  exposition  of  its  grounds  unnecessary.  It 
assumes  that  God,  if  acknowledged  at  all,  nuist  be 
entitled  to  the  epithets  "Absolute"  and  "Infinite"  on 
the  one  hand,  and  "Cause"  on  the  other.  Supposing 
this  to  be  admitted,  several  contradictions  arise  between 
the  parts  of  the  admission ;  and  some  positions  to 
which  thought  is  incompetent  altogether.  To  be  "  Ab- 
solute," for  instance,  means,  to  be  out  of  all  relations  : 
to  be  "Cause"  means,  to  stand  related  to  an  eifcct  : 
and  the  same  object  cannot  be  both.  Again,  "Infi- 
nite" IJeing  is  unexclusive  being,  to  which  nothing  can 


186  SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AM)    FVlTIf. 

be  added  and  no  new  predicate  attached:  "Causal" 
Being  is  transitive  and  productive,  j)assing  to  condi- 
tions not  occupied  before,  and  adding  to  the  stock  of 
existence,  or  functions  of  existence,  chargeable  upon 
it.  The  epithets  are  therefore  incompatible.  iSIorc- 
over,  the  very  nature  of  Thought  itself  imprisons  tis 
within  the  circle  of  relative  things  :  for  it  carries  in  it 
a  necessary  duality,  and  consists  in  marking  off  and 
distinguishing,  — object  from  subject,  body  froui  sp:ic(>, 
attribute  from  substance,  prior  from  posterior,  and 
individuals,  classes,  and  qualities  int<iv  ,se.  Apart 
from  a  field  or  term  of  comparison,  any-thing  proposed 
for  thou;j[ht  becomes  no-thinij,  and  only  a  vacancv 
remains  :  nor  is  the  vacancy  itself  appreciable  but  by 
standing  over  against  the  self  that  looks  into  it.  If 
then  to  think  is,  on  the  one  hand,  to  note  the  confines 
of  things,  it  can  never  pass  beyond  the  finite  :  and  if 
it  is,  on  the  other,  to  discriminate  their  contents  and 
properties,  it  can  never  pass  beyond  the  relative.  The 
Absolute  and  Infinite  cannot  therefore  present  itself 
to  the  intellect  at  all. 

So  the  warrant  for  the  doctrine  of  religious  nescien<;e 
is  simply  this:  that  God  is  "absolute;"  and  we  can 
know  nothing  but  the  relative. 

Of  one  point,  however,  Mr.  Spencer  declares,  we 
may  be  sure  ;  and  that,  upon  the  highest  guarantee,  — 
the  same  a-priori  necessity  of  thought  which  enforces 
the  nescience  itself,  —  viz.  that  the  Absolute  exists  in 
reality,  though  denied  to  apprehension.  For,  were 
it  otherwise,  there  could  be  no  relative ;  relativity  it- 
self being  in  its  term  cognizable  only  by  contrast  with 
the  non-relative,  and  forming  a  duality  with  it.     Take 


SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND    FAITH.  187 

n\vay  its  antitlietic  term,  and  the  relative,  thrown  inro 
isolation,  is  set  up  as  absolute,  and  dis:ij)[)ears  tVoiu 
thought.  It  is  indispensable  therefore  to  uphold  tiie 
Absolute  in  existence,  as  condition  of  the  relative  S[)here 
which  constitutes  our  whole  intellectual  domain.  Be 
it  so:  but,  when  saved  on  this  plea,  —  to  preserve  the 
balance  and  interdependence  of  two  co-relatives,  — 
the  "  Absolute  "  is  absolute  no  more;  it  is  reduced  to 
a  term  of  relation  :  it  loses  therefore  its  exile  from 
thought :  its  disqualification  is  cancelled  :  and  the  al- 
leged nescience  is  discharged. 

So,  the  same  law  of  thought  which  warrants  the 
existence,  dissolves  the  inscrutablcness,  of  tiic  Abso- 
lute. 

^V^hat,  after  all,  then  is  the  amount  of  this  tcnible 
nescience,  victoriously  established  by  such  a  flourish 
of  double-edged  abstractions?  Let  not  the  dazzled 
observer  be  ahirmcd  :  with  all  their  swift  dexterities, 
these  metaphysical  whifticrs  draw  no  blood  :  if  they  do 
more  than  beat  the  air,  they  cleave  only  ghostly  foes 
that  need  no  healing  and  are  innnortal.  It  all  comes 
to  this;  that  we  cannot  know  God  out  of  all  relation, 
apart  from  his  character,  apart  from  his  universe,  apart 
from  ourselves,  —  vacuum  within,  vacuum  without, 
and  no  difference  between  them,  but  everywhere  a 
sublime  equivalence  of  being  and  of  blank.  Privation 
of  this  knowledge  we  suffer,  not  in  our  capacity  of 
{(jnorant  creatures,  but  in  our  capacity  of  intcUeclual 
beinjxs ;  intelliLrence  itself"  consisting:  in  not  havinq 
cognition  of  such  sort :  so  that,  if  we  liad  it,  we  should 
cease  to  understand,  and  pass  out  of  the  category  of 
thinking  natures   altogether.      If  any  one   chooses   to 


186  SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND    FAITH. 

iii»:i<^ine  that  this  would  be  a  promotion,  and  to  feel 
himself'  aggrieved  by  his  exclusion  from  it,  far  be  it 
from  us  to  disturb  so  transcendent  a  grief:  but  from 
the  common  human  level  his  dream  of  [)rivilege  is 
indistinguishable  from  the  reality  of  loss,  and  his  ambi- 
tion of  apotheosis  seems  tantamount  to  a  longing  for 
death.  God  other  than  "Absolute,"  God  Jis  related 
to  nature,  to  humanity,  —  as  embracing  and  quickening 
the  finite  world,  as  the  Source  of  all  order,  beauty, 
good,  —  in  every  aspect  which  distinguishes  the  Living 
from  the  Existing  God,  —  we  are  not  by  the  hypothe- 
sis debarred  from  knowing.  This  is  enough :  and 
every  step  beyond  this  would  be  a  step  out  of  knowl- 
edge into  ignorance,  a  lapse  over  the  brink  of  reason 
into  unreason.  We  protest  against  these  relative  ap- 
prehensions being  left  to  us  with  Jin  apology,  and  dis- 
})araged  as  "regulative  knowledge,"  —  a  kind  of  pious 
frauds  put  upon  our  nature,  —  falsehoods  which  it  is 
wholesome  for  us  to  believe.  Their  relativity  is  a 
groTHul  of  trust,  and  not  of  distrust;  j)resenting  pre- 
cisely that  union  of  the  Real  and  the  Piicnomcnal, 
Being  and  Genesis,  the  One  and  the  Many,  the  divorce 
of  which,  in  the  interest  of  either,  has  falsified  almost 
every  philosophy.  True,  God  so  regarded,  will  not, 
in  the  rigorous  metaphysical  sense,  be  absolutely  infi- 
nite. But  we  know  no  reason  why  he  should  be ; 
and  must  leave  it  to  the  schoolmen  who  worship  such 
abstractions  to  go  into  mourning  at  the  discovery. 

The  doctrine  of  nescience  is  further  defended  by 
nppcal  to  Spinoza's  principle,  that  to  predicate  is  to 
limit,  —  "Omnis  determinatio  est  negatio."  Whatever 
you  affirm  of  any  subject  introduces  a  boundary  into 


SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND    FaITII.  189 

its  nature,  and  shuts  the  door  on  a  possibility  pre\  i- 
ously  open.  How  then,  it  is  asked,  can  the  Infinite 
be  the  object  of  thouglit?  To  think  is  mentally  to 
predicate  :  to  predicate  is  to  limit :  so  that,  under  the 
process,  the  Infinite  becomes  finite  :  and  to  know  it  is 
to  destroy  it.  If"  so,  however,  the  Infinite  can  have  no 
predicates,  —  none  of  the  marks,  that  is,  or  characters 
of  existence,  and  will  be  indistinguishable  from  non- 
being.  To  deny  it  to  Thought,  yet  save  it  to  exist- 
ence, —  as  Mr.  Spencer  proposes,  —  is  thus  impossible. 
If  it  is  an  incognizable,  it  is  also  a  nonentity.  What 
is  intrinsically  out  of  thought  is  necessarily  out  of 
being. 

Or  will  you  look  at  the  Infinite  from  the  affirmative 
rather  than  the  negative  side  ;  and  instead  of  guarding 
it  from  what  it  nnist  not  be,  consider  what  it  nmst 
comprise  and  be?  Then  we  sliall  give  just  the  opposite 
account  of  it :  ceasing  to  say  that  it  can  have  no  predi- 
cates, because  no  limits,  we  shall  demand  for  it  all 
predicates,  because  all  phases  and  possibilities  of  being. 
To  the  Infinite,  as  unexcluslve,  every  thing  affirmative 
belongs  ;  not  only  to  be,  therefore,  but  to  be  kno\\ni  ;  — 
to  subsist  within  the  sphere  of  intellect  as  well  as  in 
every  otiier  sphere.  To  claim  it  f(n*  Being,  yet  with- 
draw it  from  Thought,  is  thus  again  in)possil)le.  If 
it  is  an  entity,  it  is  not  an  incognizable.  The  Infinite 
which  is  veal  in  existence  is  possible  in  cognition. 

We  cannot  see,  therefore,  the  slightest  logical  advan- 
tage in  the  new  subjective  atheism  over  its  broader 
objective  counterpart.  The  denial,  for  all  minds,  of 
any  possible  knowledge  of  God,  is  tantamount  to  tho 
denial,  for  him,  of  real  being.     Not  only  do  the  two 


190  SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND    FAITH. 

ncy;iitions  appcur  to  us  momlly  crjuivulent,  with  only 
a,  tinge  perhaps  of  more  reluctant  dreariness  in  that 
which  is  at  present  in  vogue  ;  but  they  are  inseparable 
Avithout  metaphysical  contradiction.  Mr.  Spencer 
must,  it  strikes  us,  concede  either  more  to  ontology 
or  less;  either  fall  back  on  the  maxim,  "All  we  know 
is  phenomena ; "  or  go  forward  from  his  assurance  that 
the  Infinite  Cause  is  to  admit  some  possible  apprehen- 
sion of  ivhat  it  is.  The  law  of  thought  which  is  his 
waiTant  for  the  simple  existence  does  not  stop  there, 
but  has  something  to  say  of  the  nature  too :  it  is 
either  good  for  nothing,  or  good  for  more  than  he 
accepts.  Keserving  this  point  for  the  present,  we  may 
exhibit  the  doctrine  in  still  another  light,  before  taking 
leave  of  its  metaphysical  aspects. 

Every  relative  di?-ability  may  be  read  two  ways.  A 
disqualification  in  the  nature  of  thought  for  knowing 
X  is,  from  the  other  side,  a  disqualification  in  the  nature 
of  X  for  being  known.  To  say  then  that  the  First 
Cause  is  wholly  removed  from  our  apprehension  is  not 
simply  a  disclaimer  of  faculty  on  our  part :  it  is  a 
charge  of  inability  against  the  First  Cause  too.  The 
dictum  about  it  is  this  :  "  It  is  jv  Being  that  may  exist 
out  of  knowledge,  but  that  is  precluded  from  entering 
within  the  sphere  of  knowledge."  We  are  told  in  one 
breath  that  this  Being  must  be  in  every  sense  "  perfect, 
complete,  total  —  including  in  itself  .all  power,  and 
transcending  all  law"  (p.  38)  ;  and  in  .another  that 
this  perfect  and  omnipotent  One  is  totally  incapable  of 
revealing  any  one  of  an  infinite  store  of  attributes. 
Need  we  point  out  the  contradictions  which  this  posi- 
tion involves?     If  you  abide  by  it,  you  deny  the  Abso- 


SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND    FAITH.  101 

lute  and  Infinite  in  the  very  act  of  affirminii  it ;  for,  in 
debarrini;  the  First  Cause  from  self-revelation,  you 
impose  a  limit  on  its  nature.  And  in  the  very  act  of 
declaring  the  First  Cause  incognizable,  you  do  not 
permit  it  to  remain  unknown.  For  that  oidv  is  un- 
known, of  which  you  can  neither  affirm  nor  deny  any 
predicate  :  here  you  deny  the  power  of  self-disclosure 
to  the  "Absolute:"  of  which  therefore  something  is 
known  ;  —  viz.   that  nothing  can  be  known  ! 

It  is  matter  indeed  of  natural  wonder  that  men  who, 
m  standing  before  the  First  Cause,  professedly  feci 
themselves  in  face  of  the  impenetrable  abyss  of  (ill 
possibilities,  should  take  on  themselves  to  expel  that 
one  possibility,  that  the  Supreme  Reality  should  be 
capable  of  self-revelation.  Among  the  indeterminate 
cases  comprised  in  their  inscrutable  abyss  they  cannot 
help  including  this,  —  that  the  Mysterious  Being  maii 
be  Conscious  Mind.  Let  them  deny  this,  and  their 
profession  of  impartial  darkness  becomes  an  emj)ty 
affectation  :  they  so  far  exchange  their  attitude  of  sus- 
pense for  one  of  dogmatism.  Let  them  admit  it :  and 
how,  with  the  possibility  of  God,  can  they  combine  an 
impossibility  of  revelation?  May  it  be  that  perchance 
all  minds  live  in  presence  of  the  Supreme  Mind,  soiutc 
of  their  own  nature  and  of  the  nature  that  surrounds 
them,  yet  that  he  cannot  couununicate  with  them,  and 
let  them  know  the  affinities  between  the  human  and  the 
Divine?  Is  there  a  possibility  of  kindred,  yet  a 
necessity  of  nescience?  Wlio  is  this  Uncreated  tliit 
can  come  forth  into  the  field  of  existence  and  fill  it  all, 
yet  by  no  crevice  can  find  entrance  into  the  field  of 
thought?  that  can  fling  the  universal  order  and  beauty 


192  SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND    FAITH. 

into  light  and  space,  yet  not  tell  liis  idea  to  a  single 
soul?  —  that  can  bid  the  universe  into  being,  yet  not 
say,  "  Lo  I  it  is  1 "  ?  So  little  credible  do  we  find  this 
combination,  that,  when  we  hear  men  insisting  on  the 
dumbness  of  the  Everlasting  Cause,  we  cannot  imagine 
but  that  the  religious  interpretation  of"  the  world  has 
already  ceased  to  be  open  to  them  ;  and  that,  however 
they  may  assume,  with  Mr.  Spencer,  a  neutral  attitude 
towards  the  sj)iritual  and  the  material  conceptions  of  the 
Ultimate  Keality,  the  controversy  has  in  efiect,  though 
j)erhaps  unconsciously,  died  out  for  them  by  [)rejudg- 
ment. 

To  assure  me  that  some  familiar  conception  is  totally 
impossible,  and  goes  dead  against  the  "first  law  of 
thought,"  is  the  polite  metaphysical  way  of  saying 
"you  are  a  fool ; "  and  the  frequency  and  gusto  with 
which  your  men  of  fornmlas  resort  to  this  euphemism 
are  highly  amusing ;  and  with  the  timid  and  self-dis- 
tiustful  win  doubtless  a  temporary  success.  Nobody 
knew,  till  Hamilton  and  Mansel  told  him,  that  when- 
ever he  talked  of  things  beginning  or  ending,  of  time, 
of  space,  of  ])owcr,  all  his  terms  were  "inconceivable," 
and  all  his  pro[)Ositions  "  contradictions."  This  was 
discouraging :  and  now  Mr.  Spencer  steps  in  with  a 
new  opprobrium,  lie  has  disco\eiX'd  a  set  of  j)f>cn(lo- 
idcuH,  a  species  of  mental  impostors,  that  do  somehow 
turn  up  in  the  mind,  but  have  no  proper  business  there, 
and  must  be  cast  out  into  limbo,  or  wherever  else  th(-'ir 
settlement  n)ay  be.  They  include,  as  might  be  antiei- 
])!;tcd,  all  the  elements  of  ontological  belief,  usually 
referred  to  an  u-prlorl  source.  They  are  charged  v\  ith 
falsehood,   for  no   other  reason   that  we  can  disco\er 


SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND   FAITH.  193 

t!):in  tlial:,  being  symbolical  transcripts  of  sensation, 
according  to  tiie  exigencies  of  our  author's  psychology, 
they  refuse  to  acknowledge  their  parentage,  and  put 
on  quite  indeix;ndent  airs.  And  they  are  distinguished 
from  true  ideas, — as  generally  the  "inconceivable" 
from  the  "conceivable,"  in  this,  that  they  do  not,  like 
the  latter,  come  before  the  imaginative  or  representa- 
tive faculty.  Alter  assuming  this  test  of  "true  and 
false,"  of  "clear  and  obscure,"  of  "thinkable  and  un- 
thinkable,"—  and  it  is  the  test  ^vhich  Hobbes  has 
bcqueatlied  to  his  followers,  —  it  is  all  j)lain-sailing  out 
of  the  u-priori  seas.  If,  among  our  mental  stt)res, 
phenomenal  ])erception,  and  what  grows  out  of  it,  m:iy 
alone  be  held  valid  as  knowledge,  the  idciis  of  reason, 
witii  regard  to  real  and  ulterior  being,  are  condemned 
without  a  hearing  as  ignorance.  liepudiating  these 
one-sided  assumptions,  we  maintain  the  equal  validity 
of  our  phenomenal  and  our  ontological  apprehensions. 

That  all  consciousness  and  thought  are  relative,  is 
not  only  true,  but  a  truism.  That  this  law  visits  us 
with  disability  to  transcend  phenomena  is  so  little  true, 
that  it  operates  as  a  revelation  of  what  exists  beyond. 
The  finite  body  cut  out  before  our  visual  perception, 
or  embraced  by  the  hands,  lies  as  an  island  in  the 
emptiness  around,  and  without  comparative  reference 
to  this  cannot  be  represented :  the  same  experience 
which  gives  us  the  definite  object,  gives  us  also  the 
infinite  space:  and  both  terms,  —  the  limited  aj)pear- 
ance  and  the  unlimited  ground,  —  are  apprehended 
with  equal  certitude  and  clearness,  and  furnished  witli 
names  equally  susceptible  of  distinct  use  in  predication 
and   reasoning.      The   transient  successions,  —  for  ia- 

13 


104  SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AXO    FAITH. 

gtance,  the  strokes  of  a  clock,  —  which  we  count, 
present  themselves  to  us  as  dotted  out  upon  the  line 
of  permanent  duration  ;  of  whicii,  wi-thout  them,  we 
should  have  had  no  ai)|)i-clu'nsit)n  ;  hut  which,  as  tlicir 
condition,  is  unreservedly  known.  Time  with  its  one 
dimension,  Space  Avith  its  three,  we  are  compelled  to 
regard  as  infinite  ;  not  in  the  mere  subjective  sense, 
that  our  thought  of  them  suffers  no  arrest ;  but  in  the 
objective  sense,  that  they  in  themselves  can  have  no 
beginning  or  end.  In  these  two  instances  of  relation, 
between  a  phenomenon  given  in  perception,  and  an 
entity  as  its  l(>gical  condition,  the  correhitcs  are  on 
a  perfect  parity  of  intellectual  validity.  You  may 
disparage  the  underlying  ground  as  "negative:"  and 
negative  it  is  so  long  as  your  attention  only  uses  it  to 
pitch  on  the  phenomenon  it  carries  :  but  this  order  is 
reversible  at  will :  and  the  moment  you  change  the 
focus  of  your  thought  and  bring  the  containing  field 
into  your  view,  your  representation  of  space  is  not  less 
positive  than  that  of  body.  Plus  and  minus  are  them- 
selves relatives,  and  change  places  according  to  the 
starting-point  and  direction  of  your  measurement. 
"  The  darkness,"  says  Malebranche  somewhere,  "  strikes 
upon  our  perceptions  as  well  as  the  light :  it  elfaces, 
no  doubt,  the  glare  of  colors  ;  but  produces  in  its  turn 
effects  of  its  own."  You  may  decry  the  ideas  of  the 
"infinite"  and  the  ''eternal"  as  not  "clear  :  "  and  clear 
they  are  not,  if  nothing  but  the  mental  pictiu'e  of  an 
outline  can  deserve  that  word.  But  if  a  thought  is 
clear,  when  it  sits  apart  without  danger  of  being  con- 
founded with  another,  when  it  can  exactly  keep  its  own 
in  speech  and  reasoning,  without  forfeiture  and  without 


SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND   FAITH.  195 

encroachment,  —  if,  in  short,  logical  clearness  coni;ists, 
not  in  the  idea  of  a  limit,  but  in  the  limit  of  the  idea,  — 
then  no  sharpest  image  of  any  finite  quantity,  —  sav, 
of  a  circle  or  an  hour,  — is  clearer  than  the  thought  of 
the  infinite  and  the  eternal.  Or,  finally,  will  you 
perhaps  admit  these  to  their  proper  honors  as  mere 
ihoiights,  —  positive  thoughts,  clear  thoughts,  —  but 
deny  to  them  the  character  of  knowledge^  This 
course  is  open  to  you  on  one  condition  ;  that  you  re- 
strict the  word  "  knowledge  "  to  the  discrimination  of 
phenomena  from  one  another,  and  refuse  it  to  the  dis- 
crimination of  them  from  their  ground  ;  aiJd  say,  for 
instance,  "  I  know  the  moon  to  be  different  from  the 
sun  ;  but  I  do  not  know  it  to  be  diiferent  from  the  space 
in  which  it  floats  :  "  or,  "  1  know  Ciesar's  life  and  date 
to  be  other  than  Seneca's  ;  but  I  do  not  know  either 
from  the  eternity  in  which  it  apjiears."  Can  any  thing, 
however,  be  more  arbitrary  than  such  a  definition? 
more  repugnant  to  conunou  sense  and  common  lan- 
guage? nay,  more  self-destructive?  for  only  as  dift'cr- 
enced  from  their  connnon  ground  can  things  ever  be 
known  as  dlir'erenced  from  one  another  :  erase  the 
primary  dillerentiation,  and  all  others  are  fi)r  cvt-r  kept 
out  of  existence.  We  have  no  guarant<^e  for  any  except 
in  the  assumed  \eracity  of  our  perccjitive  and  i'lgical 
faculties  :  and  that  guarantee  we  ha\e  alike  for  all. 
We  conclude  then,  on  reviewing  these  examples  of 
Space  and  Time,  that  ontological  ideas,  introducing  us 
to  certain  fixed  entities,  jjclong  no  less  to  our  knowl- 
edge than  scientific  ideas  of  [jjicnoiucnal  disposition  and 
succession.  The  two  types  of  cognition  are  dilfcrent 
in  this  :   that  the   one  gives   to   our  apprehension   the 


196  SCIENCE,    MESCIE.NCE,    AND    FAITH. 

unclumgcahle  constancies  of  the  nnivcr.>^e, — wimtevor 
is,  not  \vh:it  will  nppear,  —  and  so  supplies  no  after- 
sight,  no  foresight,  but  siuii)ly  insight :  while  the  other 
gives  us  tlie  order  and  the  lines  of  change  ;  and  so 
enables  us  to  reproduce  the  past  in  thought  and  antici- 
pate the  future.  Both  kinds  of  discernment  have  the 
tfamc  warrant :  both  are  alike  indispensable  to  the  har- 
mony of  Reason  with  itself  and  with  the  world  :  neither 
can  affect  independence  of  the  other  :  and  the  attcuj[)t 
to  glorify  exclusively  the  characterihtics  of  either  is 
a  mere  professional  limitation  of  mind,  whetluH-  in  the 
j)riest  of  Nature  or  the  priest  of  God.  The  charge 
of  nescience,  advanced  on  the  plea  of  the  relativity  of 
knowledge,  is  double-edged,  and  cuts  both  ways. 
True  it  is  that  the  Infinite,  discharged  of  all  relation  to 
the  Finite,  could  never  come  into  apjjrehension  ;  as, 
without  body,  we  should  not  know  the  truth  of  space  : 
and  that,  in  the  attempt  to  deal  with  it  absolutely, 
thought,  overleaping  its  own  conditions,  is  baffled  and 
perplexed.  But  it  is  no  less  true  that  the  Finite,  dis- 
charged of  all  relation  to  the  Infinite,  is  incognizable 
too ;  as,  without  the  comprehending  space,  bodies 
could  not  mark  out  for  us  tiieir  determinate  figures  and 
positions :  and  that,  in  spite  of  every  vow  to  ignore  all 
except  phenomena,  Science  is  obliged  to  resume  into 
itself  certain  metaj)hysical  elements,  were  it  only  as 
the  vehicle  of  description  for  its  own  work.  On  either 
hand,  these  are  unfruitful  propositions.  What  is  the 
use  of  telling  me  that  an  "Absolute"  which  came  into 
no  relation  would  be  inapprehensible?  It  is  only  say- 
ing that  an  unmanifested  Infinite  could  never  be  found 
out ;  that  an  everlasting  silence  would  be  totally  iuau- 


SCIENCE,    ^ESCIE^■CE,    AM)    FAITI[.  197 

<]\\)[q.     Vapid  words,  iu  a  universe  full  of  visions  and 
of  voices  ! 

^A'liat  we  have  said  with  reirard  to  Space  and  Time 
a[)plies  equally  to  the  case  of  Causation.  Here,  too, 
the  Finite  offered  to  perception  introduces  to  an  Infi- 
nite su])plied  by  thought.  As  a  definite  body  reveals 
al.so  the  Space  around,  and  an  interru[)ted  succession 
exhibits  the  uniform  Time  beneath,  so  does  the  passing* 
])hcnomcnon  demand  for  itself  a  Power  behind  :  the 
Sj)ace  and  Time  and  Power  not  being  part  of  the  thing 
perceived,  but  its  condition  ;  guaranteed  to  us,  there- 
fore, on  the  warrant,  not  of  Sense,  but  of  Intellect. 
They  are  all  on  the  same  footing  :  we  thiidc  them  all 
by  the  same  necessity  :  we  know  them  all  with  the  same 
certainty.  jNIr.  Spencer  freely  allows  that  we  are  obliged 
to  regard  every  phenomenon  as  the  manil'estation  of 
some  Power ;  that  "  we  are  obliyed  to  I'cuard  that 
Power  as  Onuiipresent "  (p.  99);  that  "we  are  no 
more  able  to  form  a  circumscribed  idea  of  Cause  than 
of  Space  or  Time,  and  we  are  consequently  obliged  to 
tliink  of  the  Cause  which  transcends  our  thought  as 
jMJsitive  though  indefinite"  (p.  93)  ;  that  we  have  a 
right  to  trust  this  demand  for  originating  power  ;  and 
that  on  this  rei)0ses  our  indestructible  belief  in  an 
ultimate  Omnipotent  Reality.  Here  already  are  several 
])redicates  assigned  which  hardly  consist  with  the  proc- 
lamation that  the  Primary  Existence  is  wholly  unknown  : 
that  Being,  it  seems  we  may  say,  is  One,  Eternal, 
Ubiquitous,  Omnipotent,  manifested  as  Cause  in  all 
])henomena.  Is  there  not  more  ex[)licitness  hen;  than 
could  be  ex[)cctcd  from  an  entity  absolutely  latent? 
But  this  is  not  all.      Our  author  further  identifies  the 


198  SCIK.NCE,    NESCIENX'K,    AXD    FAITH. 

First  Cause  with  what  appears  in  Science  under  iho 
name  of  "Force,"  and  is  tracked  throu^^h  the  metamor- 
phoses of  physical,  chemical,  vital,  and  other  phenom- 
ena. The  dynamic  principles  tiiat  we  carry  into  our 
interpretation  of  nature,  that  Force  is  persistent  through 
all  expenditures,  and  onq  under  every  disguise,  —  arc 
in  truth  but  the  transformed  expression  of  the  axiom 
of  ultimate  Causation.  The  primary  and  secondary 
agencies  being  thus  merged  into  one,  and  conjointly 
made  objects  of  a-priori  ajiprehension,  the  next  (pies- 
tlon  naturally  is,  —  what  in  the  last  resort  means  this 
word  "Cause"?  Pursued  backward  to  its  native  scat, 
as  a  form  of  the  intellect  itself,  what  type  does  the 
thought  present?  Mr.  Spencer  truly  says,  "the  force 
by  which  we  ourselves  i)roduce  changes,  and  which 
serves  to  symbolize  the  cause  of  changes  in  general, 
is  the  final  disclosure  of  analysis"  (p.  235)  :  he  admits 
that  we  cannot  match  our  own  voluntary  effort  against 
an  external  force,  and  regard  them  as  susceptible  of 
a  common  measure,  without  assuming  them  to  be  like 
in  kind  (pp.  58,  254)  :  and  as  "no  force  save  that  of 
which  we  are  conscious  during  our  o'vn  muscular  efforts 
is  immediately  known  to  us,"  while  "all  other  force 
is  metlintely  known,"  it  is  clearly  the  inner  volition  that 
serves  as  prototype  of  all  exterior  power,  and  defines 
what  the  intellect  intends  by  the  word  Cause.  Now 
combine  these  several  propositions.  One  power  we 
immediately  know.  That  power  is  Will.  Others,  if 
assumed  by  us,  must  be  assimilated  to  this.  But  be- 
hind every  phenomenon  we  must  assume  a  power. 
And  all  such  powers  are  modes  of  one  and  the  same. 
And   that  one  is  identical  with  the  First  Cause  and 


SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND    FAITIf.  li)*J 

Ultimate  Reality  of  Being.  The  inference  is  irresist- 
ible, that  by  a  fundamental  necessity  of  thought  we 
are  constrained  to  own  an  ever-living  \^'^iIl,  a  Personal 
Agent,  as  Author  and  Administrator  of  the  universe. 
This  is  precisely  what  the  Tlieist  maintains  ;  and  in- 
cludes all  that  he  can  gatlier  from  the  bare  contem- 
plation of  physical  nature,  apart  from  the  moral  expe- 
riences and  the  spiritual  history  of  hiuiianity.  Collected 
from  so  limited  a  ground,  the  ground  too  least  rich  in 
phenomena  of  the  highest  expression,  it  is  but  a  meagre 
and  imperfect  form  of  faith.  But  still  it  dissipates  the 
theory  of  nescience.  It  vindicates  some  distinct  appre- 
hensions of  the  "  Supreme  Reality."  And  drawn  as  it 
is  directly  from  the  statements  of  an  author  who  con- 
troverts it,  it  is  a  matter  of  some  curiosity  to  see  how 
he  evades  the  apparent  cogency  of  his  own  premises. 

lie  forsakes  the  line  of  proof  by  a  very  simple  device. 
The  likeness  between  our  own  force  and  tiiat  which 
operates  around  us,  tliough  a  necessity,  is  also,  he 
conceives,  an  ilhision  of  thought :  and  so  v\e  nnist 
give  u|)  oui"  first  natui'al  belief  tiiat  the  universe  is 
at  the  disposal  of  a  Mind,  the  Divine  counterpart  of 
ours.  There  is  no  other  conception  open  to  us  in  our 
apprehension  of  outward  causality  :  and  yet  this  con- 
ception fails,  and  betrays  us  into  absurdity.  How  so? 
Because  it  implies  that  the  weight  which  1  lift  with  my 
muscles  must,  in  order  to  pull  against  me,  be  furnished 
with  muscles  too  :  and  whatever  teaches  me  that  the 
objects  about  me  are  not  alive  destroys  the  assumed 
resemblance  between  the  inner  and  the  outer  world. 
The  case  is  thus  stated  : 


200  SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND    FAITH. 

"On  lifting  a  chair,  the  force  exerted  we  regard  as  equal 
to  that  antngonisiic  force  called  the  weiglit  of  the  chair;  and 
we  cannot  tiiink  of  these  as  equal  without  tliinking  of  them  :is 
like  in  kind;  since  equality  is  conceivable  only  bttwecu 
things  that  are  connatural.  The  axiom  that  action  and 
re-action  are  equal  and  in  opposite  directions,  commonly  ex- 
em  |)li(icd  by  this  very  instance  of  muscular  effort  versrts 
weight,  cannot  be  mentally  realized  on  any  oiIhm'  condition. 
Yet.  contrariwise,  it  is  incredible  that  the  force  as  existing  iu 
tlie  chair  rt  ally  resembles  tlie  force  as  present  to  our  minds. 
It  scarcely  needs  to  point  out  that  the  weight  of  the  chair  pro- 
duces in  us  various  feelings  according  as  we  suppoit  it  by 
a  single  finger,  or  the  whole  hand,  or  the  leg;  and  iience  to 
argue  that  as  it  cannot  be  like  all  these  sensations,  there  ia 
no  reason  to  believe  it  like  any.  It  snflices  to  remark  that 
since  the  force  as  known  to  us  is  an  affc'  tiou  of  consciousnei»s, 
we  cannot  conceive  the  force  existing  in  the  chair  under  tiie 
same  form  with  endowing  the  chair  with  consciousness.  80 
tiu.t  it  is  absurd  to  think  of  Force  as  in  itself  like  our  sensa- 
tion of  it,  and  yet  necessary  so  to  think  of  it  if  we  realize  it 
iu  consciousness  at  all"  (p.  08). 

Tlicrc  wouhl  be  somctliiiig  in  this  reasoning,  if 
tlie  muscles  were  the  Personal  Agent  disposing  of  the 
chair,  and  their  sensations  the  power  he  put  forth. 
The  causality,  however,  does  not  lie  in  them,  but  be- 
hind them  ;  they  arc  themselves  obedient  to  a  mandate 
from  within  ;  and  their  sensations,  which  occur  only  in 
the  execution  of  the  act,  do  not  even  begin  till  that  man- 
date has  given  the  signal.  Were  the  muscles  altogether 
insensible,  the  power  at  head-quarters  would  not  (^n  that 
account  be  disqualified  for  action,  or  be  unconscious 
of  itself,  ^^'e  may  entirely  discharge  out  of  the  accutmt 
the  whole  of  this   merely  ministerial  apparatus,  with 


SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    ANO    FAITH.  201 

all  its  supposiible  varieties.  It  is  not  this  which  even 
the  simplest  individual,  —  be  it  that  small  "child"  so 
much  dandled  by  the  psycholoijists,  or  the  everlasting 
"peasant"  prefcrre+1  by  bachelor  philosoi)hers,  or  the 
"fetish-worshipper"  in  favor  with  ]Mr.  Mill, — attri- 
butes to  the  external  objects  acting  upon  hin»  :  and 
his  discovery  that  they  do  not  possess  it  disabuses  him 
of  no  previous  idea.  What  he  plants  in  idea  behind 
the  phenomena  that  strike  him  is  similar,  not  to  his 
muscles  which  obey,  but  to  his  Will  which  bids  :  and 
of  this  idea,  though  it  has  a  history  to  go  through  in 
correspondence  with  his  culture,  no  progress  of  reason, 
we  feel  assured,  will  ever  disabuse  him.  At  last,  as 
at  first,  —  because  by  a  necessity  of  thought  which 
runs  through  all  experience,  —  he  has  to  think  of 
Causality  as  meaning  Will,  and  to  borrow  all  his 
dynamic  language,  —  "attraction,"  "repulsion,"  "ten- 
sion," "percussion,"  "active,"  "passive,"  "weak," 
'^strong,"  "overcome,"  "resist,"  —  from  familiar  in- 
stances and  conditions  of  Will.  If  not,  there  must 
be  some  point  and  some  process  for  unlearning  his 
original  postulate,  and  substituting  some  other  idea 
of  power.  Yet  this  can  never  be.  For,  confessedly, 
it  is  beyond  the  competency  of  exi)erience,  however 
refined,  to  disclose  any  thing  but  Imcs:  the  mystery 
Qt'i  force  evades  the  penetration  of  the  ob.-ervcr,  and 
therefore  has  no  presence  among  the  materials  of  in- 
ductive generalization  :  Science  did  not  give  it,  and 
Science  cannot  take  it  away  :  it  lies  on  another  licld, 
where  the  correction  or  corroboration  of  phenomenal 
knowledge  can  never  meet  it.  Born  as  a  pure  intel- 
lectual datum,   it  remains  among  our   intellectual   re 


202  SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND   FAITH. 

serves,  withdrawn  not  only  from  every  aetiial,  but 
from  every  possible  contradiction  :  —  an  indestructible 
and  unalterable  postulate,  inherent  in  the  very  organism 
of  Reason  itself.  Does  this  require  us  then,  as  our 
author  insists,  to  "endow  the  chair  with  consciousness," 
and,  with  Kepler,  to  set  a  separate  spirit  on  each 
])lanet  for  its  guidance?  By  no  means.  The  theory 
of  Living  Causality  involves  no  such  puerilities ;  is  no 
more  negligent  than  Materialism  itself  of  the  lessons 
of  scientific  generalization  :  only  it  puts  upon  them 
a  somewhat  different  interpretation.  On  the  funda- 
mental fact  to  be  construed  there  is  sufficient  agreement. 
Undisciplined  Man  looks  on  all  moving  and  impressive 
things  as  animate  ;  starts  at  the  spirits  in  the  wind, 
the  rushing  water,  and  the  forest  gloom ;  and  feels 
upon  him  a  host  of  awful  eyes  in  the  watching  lights 
of  heaven.  Civilized  Man  goes  amonij  these  thinjjs, 
and  tabulates  them  all ;  takes  meteorological  notes ; 
draws  up  nautical  almanacs ;  calculates  when  the  tim- 
ber will  become  available  as  coal ;  and  in  a  few  weeks 
reduces  even  a  new  comet  to  rules,  and  publishes  its 
road,  in  the  Times  newspaper.  Wherein  consists  the 
essence  of  this  change?  Will  you  say,  "Nature  which 
we  supposed  alive  at  the  beginning,  we  have  found  at 
last  to  be  dead"?  We  should  rather  reply,  "Nature 
which  in  our  childhood  seemed  charged  with  the  caprices 
of  a  thousand  spirits,  has  become,  for  our  maturity, 
organ  of  the  faithful  thouoht  of  One."  The  widening 
circuit  of  law,  the  merging  of  anomalies,  the  ever- 
growing tissue  of  analogies,  do  not  touch  the  inner 
nature  of  causality :  they  are  but  the  spread  of  unity 
w^here  plurality  was  before.     So  long  as  the  provinces 


SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND    FAITH.  203 

of  the  Visible  world,  and  the  corresponding  sets  of 
phenomena,  struck  our  perception  one  by  one,  they 
needed  for  their  explanation  a  god  a  piece  :  when  two 
were  fu=ed  together,  the  separation  of  their  causes 
lapsed  as  well  :  and  when,  by  the  apprehension  of 
some  universal  law,  the  great  kosmical  conception, 
embracing  heaven  and  earth  in  a  common  order,  as- 
sumed consistency,  the  miscellaneous  crowd  of  spirits 
necessarily  disappeared,  in  favor  of  the  One  Mind 
that  manifestly  tliought  out  the  whole.  By  this 
change,  the  provincial  departments  of  nature,  formerly 
invested  with  independent  life,  fell  into  subordination  ; 
• — became  simply  instriuneutal  ;  —  and,  when  taken 
apart  for  separate  contemplation,  could  reveal  method 
only,  not  causality,  which  liad  now  retired  into  the 
unitary  background.  The  notion  of  distinct  laics, 
mechanical,  chemical,  vital,  —  mere  modes  of  causal 
procedure,  —  succeeded  to  that  of  distinct  personal 
agents,  and  furnished  lines  of  demarcation,  often 
entirely  new,  between  field  and  field  of  nature  :  but  as 
this  notion  does  absolutely  nothing  either  to  su[)ersede 
or  to  satisfy  the  axiom  of  causation,  the  personal  agents 
expelled  by  it  leave  a  function  unfulfilled.  That  func- 
tion, vacated  by  their  many  wills,  is  taken  up  and 
absorbed  into  One  ;  the  singleness  of  the  world  express- 
inir  the  singleness  of  its  Cause.  The  earlv  identifica- 
tion  then  of  Causality  and  Will  can  never  be  disproved, 
and  is  never  lost  :  the  spiritual  element  is  not  dis- 
charged by  any  discovery  of  Laws  :  dislodged  from  this 
or  that  detached  seat,  it  simply  ceases  to  be  scattered 
and  becomes  concentrated:  and  as  Science  weaves  ])he- 
nomena  into  imity,  Religion  blends  the  Divine  Powers 


204  SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND   FAITH. 

into  One.  'We  are  told  it  is  "Fetishism"  to  look  on 
the  world  as  instinct  with  Living  Mind.  If  so,  it  is  at 
least  that  im[)erisimblc  clement  which  Fetishism  has  in 
common  with  the  highest  Theism.  We  are  told,  it 
is  the  effect  of  Philosophy  to  exorcise  every  spirit  from 
the  universe,  and  reduce  it  to  an  acrffrcijate  of  uncon- 
scions  laws.  If  so,  it  is  at  least  that  effect  of  Philoso- 
phy which  it  shares  with  mere  stuj)efying  Custom  ;  — 
an  infirmity  of  technical  habit,  —  not  any  vision  of 
what  is  s[)ecial  to  its  field,  but  an  acquired  blindness 
to  what  remains  beyond.  There  is  doubtless  a  differ- 
ent reading  of  the  world  present  to  the  mind  of  the 
man  of  Science,  and  to  the  soul  of  the  Poet  and  the 
Proj)hct ;  the  one  spelling  out  the  order  of  its  phe- 
nomena ;  the  other,  the  meaning  of  its  beauty,  the 
mystery  of  its  sorrow,  the  sanctity  of  its  Cause.  But 
seeing  that  it  is  the  same  world  which  faces  both,  and 
that  the  eyes  are  human  into  which  it  looks,  we  can 
never  doubt  that  the  two  readings  have  their  intrinsic 
harnjonies,  and  that  the  articulate  thought  of  the  one 
will  fall  at  last  into  rhythm  with  the  solemn  music  of 
the  other. 

On  full  survey  of  the  logical  conditions  of  this  great 
problem,  it  seems  to  us  that  Mr.  Spencer  has  alighted 
<m  the  least  tenable  of  all  the  possible  positions.  We 
can  understand  the  Positivist  with  whom  laws  are  ul- 
timate, and  who  turns  causation  out  of  doors  into 
metaphysic  night.  We  can  understand  the  Theist,  who 
says  that,  on  whatever  ground  you  know  the  First 
Cause  to  exist,  on  the  same  ground  you  know  that 
Cause  to  be  a  free  Mind.  But  we  cannot  understand 
the    intermediate    position,    which    allows    a    field    to 


SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND    FAITH.  205 

Ontology,  but  condemns  it  to  perpetual  barrenness ; 
which  admits  and  demonstrates  the  on  tart,  but  meets  the 
Tt  tOTi  with  only  negations  and  despair.  To  prc[)arG 
the  way  for  this  paradox,  both  the  Theistic  and  the 
Aiheistic  doctrines  are  charged  with  contradictions  which 
they  do  not  contain.  Tlie  sdf-exlstence,  for  instance, 
which  the  latter  ascribes  to  the  universe,  and  the  former 
to  God,  is  declared  to  be  "  rigorously  inconceivable," 
because  ''  to  conceive  existence  through  iuHnite  past- 
time,  im])Iies  the  conception  of  infinite  post-time,  which 
is  an  impossibility"  (p.  31).  V.'e  cannot  answer  for 
the  consciousness  of  others  :  and  in  the  face  of  this 
frequent  assertion  we  hardly  like  to  speak  for  ourselves. 
Yet  after  repeated  rcHection  we  cannot  at  all  detect 
this  alleged  "impossibility."  To  form  an  image  of  any 
infinitude,  —  be  it  of  time  or  space  or  number,  —  to  go 
mentally  through  it  by  successive  ste})S  of  representa- 
tion,—  is  indeed  impossible  ;  not  less  so  than  to  trav- 
erse it  in  our  finite  perception  and  experience.  But  to 
have  the  thonyJit  of  it,  as  an  idea  of  the  Iveason,  not  of 
the  phantasy,  and  assign  that  tliought  a  constituent  place 
in  valid  beliefs  and  consistent  reasoning,  ap[)ears  to  us 
not  only  possible,  but  inevitable  :  and  the  large  part  it 
plays  in  mathematical  science  alone  suffices  to  vindicate 
its  worth  for  the  intellect.  So  far  as  this  difficulty 
goes,  "self-existence"  appears  to  us  perfectly  susce[)- 
tible,  and  equally  susceptible,  of  intelligible  predication 
regarding  the  universe  and  regarding  (jod.  2Sot  that 
the  two  assertions  —  the  Atheist's  and  the  Tluist's-- 
remain  at  all  upon  the  same  footing  beyond  the  circle 
of  this  particular  criticism,  and  are  equally  free  from 
other  difficulties  uttachinu'  to  the  claim  of  self-existence. 


206  SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND   FAITH. 

Mr.  Spencer  treats  the  two  cases  as  parallel  tlirougliout, 
and  charges  it  on  Theists  as  a  gross  inconsistency  that 
they  demand  for  their  Ultimate  Reality  the  very  attri- 
bute which  they  forbid  the  Atheist  to  affirm  of  his. 
"Those  who  cannot  conceive  a  self-existent  universe; 
and  who  therefore  assume  a  creator  as  the  source  of  the 
universe  ;  take  for  granted  that  they  can  conceive  a  self- 
existent  creator"  (p.  35).  "If  we  admit  tiiat  there  can 
be  something  uncaused,  there  is  no  reason  to  assume  a 
cause  for  any  thing"  (p.  37).  Far  from  admitting 
thi.^  indiscriminatin":  doctrine,  that  self-cxi.<tencc  mav  j^o 
either  everywhere  or  nowhere,  we  submit  the  di^^tiiiction 
that  while,  by  the  laws  of  thought,  phenomena  demand 
causation,  entities  dispense  with  it :  and  it  is,  we  pre- 
sume, in  obedience  to  this  law,  that  our  author  himself 
plants  his  "  Absolute  Reality  "  behind  the  scenery  and 
changes  of  the  world.  It  is  not  existence,  but  entrance 
upon  existence  and  exit  thence,  that  nuist  be  referred 
to  an  originating  ])Ower.  And  inasnuich  as  the  uni- 
verse resolves  itself  into  a  perpetual  genesis,  a  vast 
aggregate  and  history  of  phenomena,  the  Theist  is  ]>er- 
fectly  justified  in  treating  it  as  disqualified  for  self- 
existence  ;  and  in  passing  behind  it  for  the  Supremo 
Entity  that  needs  no  Cause,  ^his  distinction  is  no 
invention  of  mere  theology  :  it  is  recognized  in  other 
fields.  No  one  asks  a  cause  for  the  Space  of  the  uni- 
verse :  and  it  depends  on  the  theory  we  may  form  of  its 
Matter,  whether  that  too  is  excepted  from  the  category 
of  originated  things.  But  everywhere  the  line  is  drawn 
upon  the  same  principle  ;  that  entities  may  have  self- 
existence  ;  phenomena  must  have  their  Cause. 

It  is  an  old' reproach  against  gross  forms  of  religion, 


8CIEXCK,    XKSCIKXCE,    AND    FAITH.  20i 

that  tliey  teach  worship] )C'i-s  to  suppose  God  "  allognthet 
such  a  One  as  themselves.'"  This  reproach  is  now 
a  favorite  weapon,  used  by  the  nescient  philosophy, 
against  those  who  worship  a  Divine  nature  in  any 
respect  such  a  one  as  their  own  :  —  against  all  therefore 
who  see  above  them  any  Divine  object  at  all ;  for 
plainly,  in  the  total  absence  of  conunon  attributes,  no 
apprehension,  no  reverence,  no  sympathy,  no  suspicion 
of  existence  even,  would  be  possible.  Unless  man  is  the 
monopolist  of  mind  in  the  universe,  and  it  culminates  in 
him,  higher  intelligences,  however  they  transcend  him, 
must  resemble  him  up  to  tiie  extreme  limits  of  his 
thought ;  and  to  take  the  rudimentary  experiences  of 
spiritual  faculty  in  himself  as  his  base  of  conception  for 
the  Universal  ]\Iind  is  no  more  presumptuous  than  from 
his  paper  diagrams  and  calculations  to  construe  the 
geometry  of  the  heavens,  and  lay  down  the  orbits  of 
the  stars.  It  is  singular  that  an  author  who  both  insists 
on  the  necessary  belief  of  a  First  Cause,  and  declares 
that  the  only  causation  we  know  is  our  own,  should  also 
write  as  follows  in  derision  of  the  theologians  : 

"If  for  a  moment  we  made  the  grotesque  supposition  that 
the  tickings  and  other  movements  of  a  wateh  constituted 
a  kind  of  conseiousness ;  and  that  a  wateh  possessed  of  sueh  a 
consciousness  insisted  on  r>'garding  the  \vat(;hmaker's  actions 
as  deKjrmined,  Hke  its  own,  hy  springs  and  escapements  ;  wo 
should  simply  complete  a  parallel  of  which  religious  teacheis 
think  much.  And  were  we  to  su|)pose  that  a  watch  'lot  only 
lornmlated  the  cause  of  its  existence  in  these  meclianical 
terms,  but  held  that  watches  were  bound  out  of  reverence 
so  to  formulate  this  cause,  and  even  vituperated,  as  atheistic 
watches,  any  that  did   not  venture   so   to  formulate  it;    we 


208  SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    ANO    FAITH. 

sliouM  merely  illustrate  the   presumption  of  theologians    by 
carrying  their  own  argument  a  step  iurther  "  (p.  ill). 

Standing  as  it  does  for  a  "theologian,"  this  is  of 
course  meant  to  be  a  great  fool  of  a  watch.  Yet,  till 
it  gets  excited  and  begins  to  "vituperate,"  its  "first 
experiments  in  thinking"  do  not  seem  so  much  amiss. 
For  do  they  not  contrive  to  hit  somehow  upon  the  exact 
truth  ?  Give  the  "  springs  and  escapements "  their 
"  grotesque  "  change  of  meaning  and  function  ;  let  them 
cease  to  be  "  mechanical,"  and  become  vital  and  mental ; 
let  the  watch,  in  virtue  of  them,  be  able  to  think  and 
will,  and  raise  questions  of  causality  :  and  then,  when 
it  fifuesses  its  own  origin  from  a  beini;  similarlv  £;ifted 
with  rational  and  voluntary  powers,  does  it  not  pitch 
U{K)n  the  fact?  Had  It  not  a  watchmaker?  and  was  he 
not  furnished  with  just  the  conscious  faculties  which 
had  been  newly  awakened  within  itself  ?  The  endow 
mcnts  by  which  lie  made  it,  are  they  not  like  those  by 
Avhich  it  found  him  out?  To  us,  we  must  confess,  the 
"  springs  and  escapements  "  of  our  author's  satire  seem 
a  little  out  of  order  ;  and  the  logical  "  ticking  "  of  the 
watch  less  at  fault  than  the  reasoning  which  makes  fun 
of  them.* 

If  of  such  type  be  the  presumption  of  theologians,  it 
is  at  least  a  hap[)y  presumption,  in  that  it  solves  its 

•  The  watch  is  so  eviilently  in  the  r'f^ht,  that  it  is  not  easj'  to  explain 
wliere  tlie  (rjiiit  of  tlie  illustration  is  siipiHised  to  lie.  If  tlie  absurdity  be 
meant  to  consist  in  this,  tliat  the  watch  attributes  to  its  maker,  not  simply 
fiicultks,  but  in  addition  orrj'ins  like  its  own,  the  "  simile  "  breaks  down  in 
its  application:  for  no  theologian  ascribes  to  Uod  any  tiling  analogous  to  the 
human  organization, —  of  musclfs,  brain,  nerves,  &e. ;  or  fails  to  guard 
expressly  against  any  intrusion  of  "  parts  ami  passions  "  into  the  idea  of 
him. 


SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    .VND    FAITH.  209 

problem  truly.  To  curry  out  tlie  illustrntion  ;i  litrle 
turtiier,  suppose,  as  the  first  fruit  of  ihcir  nuicli  think 
ing:,  a  dispute  and  jumble  of  cross-tickings  among  the 
Avatches  ;  and  that  one,  —  attached  to  the  "  know-noth- 
ing "  party, — faced  full  upon  our  first  reasoner  and 
said:  'Do  not  tell  me  about  a  watchmaker:  such 
])erson  is  imj)ossible,  except  in  the  dreams  of  your 
nii.-crable  egotism.  Some  Cause  certainly  you  and 
I  nuist  have  had  :  but  if  every  creature  is  to  set  up 
a  Maker  like  itself,  where  shall  we  be?  You  and  1  can 
do  a  little  thinking,  no  doubt ;  but  that  is  because  we 
have  wheels  ;  it  is  a  kind  of  ticking  they  have.  We 
can  also  choose  this  way  or  that ;  but  only  because 
there  is  an  elastic  thread  in  us  that  goes  tight  and  loose 
by  turns.  We  fancy  ourselves  living,  and  seem  to  go 
of  ourselves  :  but  if  you  attend  to  the  winding-up  that 
happens  to  us,  you  will  see  it  is  only  a  mechanical  force 
turning  itself  into  vital.  So,  for  us  to  be  alive  and 
knowing,  there  is  no  need  for  the  Cause  of  us  to  be  so. 
No,  no  :  your  watchmaker-theory  is  too  mechanical  for 
nie  :  watch-evolution  is  better,  as  far  as  it  goes.  "  I 
su[)pose  vvc  grew."  But  of  the  Real  Cause  the  only 
thing  I  know  is,  that  it  cannot  be  a  watchmaker  :  it 
cannot  be  in  any  respect  like  us  :  it  cannot  think  :  it 
cannot  will :  it  cannot  live  :  and  to  believe  any  thing 
of  the  sort  is  "  transcendent  audacity."  '  Is  this  nescient 
watch  entitled,  merely  by  its  humor  for  negations,  to 
the  [)raise  of  eminent  modesty,  and  also  to  the  preroga- 
tive of  high  rebuke?  To  drop  the  illustration,  does 
a  profession  of  ignorance,  does  an  inununity  from 
theological  belief,  confer  a  right  to  stigmatize  the  faith 

of  others  as  "  impieties  "  ? 

14 


210  SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND    FAITFI. 

Such  censure,  however,  does  the  t?eusitivc  zciil  of 
Mr.  Spencer  iuhninister  to  us  for  irreverent  s[)eech  in 
our  pages*  regarding  the  Supreme  Cuusc  ;  —  s[>eech  so 
irreverent  as  to  cast  into  the  shade  the  presumptuous 
fellow  who  lamented  that  he  had  not  been  consulted  at 
the  making  of  tlic  world.  What  is  the  sacrilegious 
violence,  —  the  Titiuiic  sealing  of  the  heavens,  — that 
calls  down  this  lightning  of  reproof  ?  Simply  the 
utterance  of  these  three  thoughts  :  that,  though  Sense 
may  vary,  Reason  must  be  uniform  in  all  beings  :  that 
the  uncreated  nsiture  conceded  universally  to  space  it 
was  difficult  to  deny  to  matter  in  its  Primary  Qualities  : 
and  that,  as  JNIind  must  be  one,  so  must  Kighteousncss 
be  one,  whether  in  Heaven  or  upon  earth.  As  our 
author  hin\self  maintains  that  Matter  can  ha\e  no 
genesis  and  suffer  no  destruction,  it  cannot  be  tiic 
second  of  these  positions  that  ofTeiKls  him.  The  first 
declares  precisely  what  the  most  calm  and  cautious  of 
modern  savans,  Oersted,  wrote  a  treatise  to  establish, 
—  the  Unity  of  Reason  throughout  the  universe  ;  the 
ubiquity  of  s[)ace  and  time  securing  the  relations  of 
measure  and  number  everywhere  ;  and  all  other  knowl- 
edue  beinor  entan<>led  with  this  constant  element.     The 

o  o  o 

third  declares  the  corresponding  Moral  principle,  — 
the  Unity  of  Goodness,  —  the  persistency  of  Right, — 
the  identity  of  Real  PLxcellencc,  from  sphere  to  sphere 
of  character.  Is  it  "audjicity,"  is  it  "irreverent,"  to 
apply  these  ])rinciples  to  the  Highest  of  Sj)iritual  Na- 
tures? Then  it  is  "audacious"  and  "irreverent"  to 
own  him  as  Mind,  or  sjjcak  of  any  Divine  Righteous- 
ness at  all :  for  to  do  so  is  to  assume  a  constant  essence 
*  See  the  Kssay  on  Nature  and  God,  ji.  121. 


SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AND    FAITH.  211 

embodied  in  these  words.  Mr.  Spencer's  conditiund 
of  pious  worship  are  iiard  to  satisfy  :  there  must  bo 
between  the  Divine  and  human  no  communion  of 
thought,  no  rehitions  of  conscience,  no  approach 
of  affection,  no  presence  of  Livinn-  God  with  living 
soul :  to  the  jeak)us  propliet  of  an  empty  "  Absolute  " 
these  things  are  all  "impieties."  And  the  "true 
religion  "  which  condemns  tiiem  consists  in  "  the  con- 
sciousness that  it  is  alike  our  highest  wisdom  and  our 
highest  duty  to  regard  tliat  through  which  all  things 
exist  as  The  Unknowable"  (p.  llo).  AVhcn  we  ask 
against  whom,  what  dear  object  of  sacred  loyalty,  our 
gi-ievous  irreverence  has  been  committed,  the  name  of 
this  blank  abstraction  is  given  in.  Far  be  it  from  us 
to  deal  lightly  with  the  sense  of  Mystery.  It  mingles 
largely  with  all  devout  apprehension,  and  is  the  great 
redeeming  power  that  piu-ifies  tlie  "intellect  of  iis 
egotism  and  the  heart  of  its  [)i"ide.  But  you  cannot 
constitute  a  lleligion  out  of  mystery  alone,  any  more 
than  out  of  knowledge  alone :  nor  can  you  measure 
the  relation  of  doctrines  to  humility  and  piety  by  the 
mere  amount  of  conscious  darkness  which  they  leave. 
All  worship,  being  directed  on  what  is  above  us  and 
transcends  our  comprehension,  stands  in  presence  of 
a  mystery.  But  not  all  that  stands  before  a  mystery 
IS  worship.  The  abyss  must  not  be  one  of  total  gloom, 
—  of  neutral  possibilities,  —  of  hidden  glories  or  hid- 
den horrors,  we  know  not  which,  —  of  perhaps  the 
secure  order  of  perfect  Thought,  or,  equally  perha[)s, 
the  seething  forces  of  a  luiiverse  fatefully  and  blimlly 
born.  Such  a  pit  of  indeterminate  contingencies  will 
bend  no  head,  and   melt   no   eye,  that   may  turn   to   it. 


212  SCIENCE,    NESCIENCE,    AM)    FAITH. 

Some  r.'iys  of  clear  light  nuist  escape  *i()mi  it,  some 
visions  of"  solemn  beauty  gleam  within  it,  ere  the 
darkness  itself  can  be  "  visible  "  enough  to  deliver  its 
awfulness  upon  the  soul.  Without  positive  apprehen- 
sions of  a  better  than  our  best,  —  of  a  Ileal  that  dwarfs 
our  Ideal,  —  of  a  Life,  a  Thought,  a  Righteousness, 
a  Love,  —  that  are  the  Infinite  to  our  Finite,  —  there 
is  nothing  to  revere,  nothing  to  decide  between  despair 
and  trust.  To  fling  us  into  bottomless  negation  is  to 
drown  us  in  mystery  and  leave  us  dead.  True  rever- 
ence can  breathe  and  see  oidy  on  condition  of  some 
n)ingling  and  alternation  of  light  and  darkness,  of 
imier  silence  and  a  stir  of  upper  air.  Nor  do  we 
believe  that  any  of  the  appropriate  efiects  of  "  true 
lieligion "  can  outlive  the  simple  trust  in  a  Personal 
Ruler  of  the  universe  and  human  life. 


213 


HANSEL'S    LIMITS   OF    RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT.* 


The  Canon  of  Salisbury  must  liave  entertained  a 
strange  idea  of  the  exigencies  of  the  orthodox  Christian 
faitli,  when  he  provitlcd  it,  by  bequest  of  liis  estates, 
with  a  fresh  defence  every  year  till  the  day  of  judg- 
ment. To  the  Aberdeen  merchant  whose  munificence 
evoked  Archbishop  Sunmer's  Records  of  Oveation 
and  Mr.  Thompson's  Cht'lstUin  Theism^  it  seemed 
sufficient  if  a  new  buttress  were  added,  or  a  new 
ap[)roach  were  opened,  to  the  edifice  every  forty  years. 
Even  at  this  rate  the  pure  gos])el  must  become  coated 
over,  like  the  focus  of  a  labyrinth,  with  excessive  pro- 
tection, or  be  accessible,  like  an  Egy[)tian  sanctuary, 
through  an  endless  propykeum.  But  if  Oxford  is  to 
widen  its  zone  of  "  evidences  "  just  forty  times  as  fast, 
and  annually  drive  back  the  lines  of  "  heretics  and 
schismatics,"  it  is  alarming  to  think  how  the  little 
oratory  of  true  worship  will  lie  in  the  midst  of  a  Ivus- 
sian  empire  of  demonstration  ;  with  certain  proof  of  one 
text  at  least,  that  scarcely  will  "the  world  itself  contain 

*  The  Limits  of  Kelijjious  Thouf?lit  examined  in  Kij,'ht  Lectmos.  prtnclicd 
before  tiie  University  of  Oxford,  in  tiie  year  U58,  on  tlie  Komidation  of  the 
late  l.'ev.  John  Hamjiton,  M.A.,  Canon  of  Salisl)ury.  liy  Henry  I.onfiiievillo 
Mansel,  li.l).,  IJeader  in  floral  and  Metaphysical  Philosophy  at  Ma^dalei. 
College;  Tutor  and  late  l'"ellow  of  St.  John's  College.  London:  iMurrav 
1S58. 

Natioual  IJeview,  January,  1659 


214  maxsel's  LI3IITS  or 

the  books  tliat  li:ive  been  written."  To  jiulu'c,  however, 
from  the  seventy  years  or  so  tliat  have  ehipsed  since  the 
foundation,  the  Batnpton  Lectures  are  not  unlikely  to 
melt  into  oblivion  at  one  end  as  fast  as  they  come  into 
existence  at  the  other.  In  proportion  to  the  number 
of  eminent  names  that  appear  in  the  series,  including 
Heber,  Milinan,  Whately,  Hampden,  and  Thompson, 
it  is  remarkable  how  few  of  the  volumes  can  be  re- 
garded as  permanent  enrichments  of  our  theological 
literature.  The  nomination  to  the  lectureship  seems 
to  oppress  the  natural  forces  of  even  strong  minds  ;  to 
reduce  genius  and  learning  to  commonplace,  if  it  does 
not  tempt  them  into  heresy.  In  a  few  exceptional 
instances,  —  as  Bishop  Hampden's  voliune  on  the 
Scholastic  Philosophy,  —  the  series  illustrates  the  pain- 
ful cost  at  which  reputations  are  won  in  theology  ;  in 
many  more  it  shows  the  facility  with  which  they  may 
be  lost.  Among  the  recent  annual  occupants  of  St. 
Mary's  pulpit  have  been  two  accomi)lished  logicians, 
Provost  Thompson  and  Dr.  Mansel ;  but  the  Lccturea 
on  the  Atonement  had  no  trace  of  intellectual  identity 
with  the  lucid  and  comprehensive  Outline  of  the  Laivs 
of  Thought;  and  now  the  acute  and  wcll-r»id  author 
of  the  Prolegomena  Logica  gives  us,  on  the  greatest  of 
subjects,  a  book  which,  in  spite  of  its  careful  elaboration 
and  literary  skill,  will  probably  convince  no  one  but 
himself,  and  be  felt  by  luany  of  his  best  readers  to 
unsettle  the  very  bases  it  was  written  to  establish. 

There  are  two  ways  in  which  you  may  conduct  a 
process  of  religious  persuasion.  You  may  a])peal  di- 
rectly to  the  sources  of  spiritual  conviction  in  the  htunan 
mind,  and  endeavor  to  awaken  the  mood  and  present 


RELIGIOUS    THOUGHT.  215 

tlie  tlioughts,  from  wliictli  belief  in  Divine  thinus  be- 
comes consdoiis  and  distinct.  Or  you  may  think  it 
needless  thus  to  begin  at  the  beginning,  and,  taking  the 
matter  up  at  a  later  stage,  may  seek  to  ward  off  and 
remove  objections  by  which  the  sj)rings  of  faith  have 
lost  their  action.  Tiie  former  method  is  creative  and 
sympatiietic ;  the  latter  is  corrective  and  antagonistic. 
The  one  develops  what  is  latent ;  the  other  sn])presses 
what  is  obtrusive.  The  one  rests  in  affirmation  ;  the 
other  negatives  denial.  By  the  rules  of  logic  these  two 
methods  ought  to  be  equivalents  in  validity  ;  and  in  llio 
treatment  of  any  subject  purely  intellectual  they  would 
actually  be  so.  But  religious  faith,  once  broken  by 
logical  doubt,  no  logical  refutation,  it  is  probal)lc,  ever 
restored  ;  so  long  as  its  inner  ground  remains  unen- 
larged,  so  long  as  no  new  field  of  moral  consciousness 
is  opened,  the  mere  dialectic  discussion  of  data  grown 
ineffectual  must  remain,  we  believe,  without  result. 
This,  indeed,  is  only  a  consequence  of  the  essential 
difference  between  a  philosophy  and  a  religion.  In 
the  apprehension  of  our  Divine  relations  the  logical 
faculty  has  but  a  secondary  function,  —  to  justify,  to 
reconcile,  to  organize,  to  unfold  certain  given  convic- 
tions ;  and  is  misapplied  in  the  attein})t  to  evoke  or 
re-instate  what  is  not  there.  Hence  it  is  that,  in  nruiy 
a  mind,  a  mass  of  sceptic  clouds,  charged  with  thunders 
of  denial,  will  cling  steadfast  to  its  cold  heights  against 
your  keenest  blasts  of  argument ;  and  then,  by  some 
unnoticed  change  in  the  climate  of  the  soul,  will  silently 
disperse.  And  hence  also  it  is  that  men  who  have  got 
rid  of  their  own  scei)ticism  are  so  seldom  able  to  shake 
other  people's.     To  their  old  companions  in  doubt,  they 


216  aiansel's  limits  op 

stem  to  have  deserted  tlieir  Ciunp  by  a  mere  spring  of 
caprice  ;  and  they  are  themselves  disappointed,  when 
they  would  account  for  their  altered  position,  that  they 
cannot  trace  the  ai)proach  to  it  by  a  more  intelligible 
j)ath.  They  find  themselves  using  —  to  the  disgust  of 
their  associates  —  the  very  same  evidences  which  used 
to  affect  them  with  ennui  or  contempt ;  and  from  the 
refutations  which  once  appealed  demonstrative  some 
secret  cause  seems  to  have  drawn  all  the  pith  away. 
The  removal  into  a  higher  region  of  belief  is  seldom 
effected  by  retracing  the  logical  staircase  which  brought 
us  to  a  lower ;  but  rather  by  flinging  away  some  de- 
taining weights,  and  passing  with  spontaneous  ascent 
into  congenial  altitudes. 

From  insensibility  to  this  fict,  theologians  greatly 
overrate  the  power  of  mere  critical  refutation  directed 
against  heretical  doubt.  They  fancy  that  it  must  undo 
in  the  sceptic  the  process  which  it  seems  to  render 
impossible  to  themselves  ;  and  when  a  book  like  Sut- 
ler's A.naloyij  apjiears,  they  regard  the  orthodox  case 
as  complete,  and  its  triumph  secure,  except  with  the 
wilful  or  the  stupid.  The  clerical  pride  in  that  inge- 
nious work,  the  constancy  with  which  its  arguments  are 
reproduced,  the  exultation  with  which  its  dilemma  is 
j)resented  to  every  opponent,  curiously  contrast  with 
its  utter  inefficacy  upon  the  minds  it  was  intended  to 
influence,  and  show  how  wide  the  chasm  wliich  sej)a- 
rates  the  systematic  divine  from  the  troubled  heartis  lie 
lias  to  help  out  of  their  ])cri)lexities.  W!jo  ever  heard 
of  a  Deist  turned  into  Christian  by  reading  the  Antilo- 
gy? or  of  a  Christian  brought  by  it  into  higher  con- 
ceptions of  his  religion?     Its  whole  force  is  expended 


RELIGIOUS    THOUGHT.  217 

in  baffling  siinj)le  Tlieism,  or  any  Cliristianity  tli.it 
assumes   it,   and   compelling  you   to   take  eitlier   more 

than  this  or  less  than  this, to  go  on  to  orthodoxy  or 

fall  back  on  atheism.  Equally  admired  as  a  logical 
feat  by  sceptics  who  strain  at  a  gnat  and  dogmatists 
who  swallow  a  camel,  it  hurts  and  browbeats  every 
intermediate  feeling ;  and  even  where  it  carries  the 
intellect,  docs  so  by  perplexing  the  moral  sense,  and 
reducing  reverence  to  lower  terms.  Tiiat  this  fatal 
tendency  belongs  to  the  very  essence  of  the  argun)cnt, 
will  appear  from  the  barest  sketch  of  its  structure. 

It  is  altogether  an  arrjiimentiim  ad  hominem,  ad- 
dressed, on  behalf  of  ecclesiastical  Cliristianity,  to  the 
believer  in  simple  Theism.  He  is  taken  up  on  his  own 
ground  ;  and  notiiing  more  is  asked  fi'om  him  at  the 
outset  than  he  is  accustomed  to  allow,  —  that  the  world 
and  human  life  evidence  the  existence  and  excmplity 
the  moral  government  of  an  Infinite  and  Holy  God. 
Go  with  me  this  one  mile,  says  Butler,  and  I  will 
compel  you  to  go  twain  ;  resting  with  me  at  last  in  the 
assurance  that  the  scheme  of  Eedemption,  as  orthodox 
men  understand  it,  has  the  same  Author  as  the  scheme 
of  Creation.  For  not  a  questionable  feature  can  you 
name  in  my  theology  which  has  not  its  exact  counter- 
part in  yours.  It  is  needless  for  me  to  deny  or  explain 
the  difficulties  ;  it  is  enough  that  I  retort  them,  and 
show  that  you  also  are  in  the  same  case.  Do  you 
object  to  the  wiraculous  origin  of  Kevelation  ?  —  I 
remind  you  of  the  miraculous  origin  of  Nature.  Are 
you  repelled  by  the  mystery  of  the  Incarnation?  —  It  is 
no  darker  than  any  other  union  of  the  Infinite  with  the 
Finite,    of  spiritual   freedom    with    physical    necessity. 


218  M Ansel's  limits  of 

Are  yon  shocked  at  the  notion  of  licrcditnrv  corruption? 
—  Wliat  say  you,  then,  to  tlie  natural  eutaii  of  disease 
and  character?  Is  it  incredil)lc  that  the  punishment  of 
the  piilty  should  be  ransomed  by  anufuish  to  the  inno- 
cent?—  I  refer  you  to  the  whole  history  of  human  life, 
where  all  redemptions  are  vicarious,  and  the  best  men 
pay  in  sacrifice  and  sorrow  for  the  deliverance  of  the 
worse.  If,  in  the  face  of  these  difficulties,  you  can  hold 
to  your  Natural  Religion,  why  should  they  disturb  your 
acceptance  of  a  Kevclatiou  to  which  they  still  adhere? 
If  the  two  schemes  ome  from  the  same  Author,  what 
more  likely  than  that  they  should  exhibit  the  s;uiio 
features? 

This  arfrn.mcnt,  it  is  evident,  far  from  relieving  any 
perplexity,  lets  it  lie  in  order  to  balance  it  by  another. 
It  duplicates  the  sense  of  painful  embarrassment,  by 
detecting  the  same  repulsions  in  the  sceptic's  residuary 
belief  which  have  already  determined  him  to  partial 
unbelief.  So  far  as  the. reasoning  succeeds,  it  is  not  by 
lightening  objections  in  the  ecclesiastical  scale,  but 
by  weighting  them  moi'c  heavily  in  the  theistical  ;  and 
the  only  new  feeling  it  can  give  to  an  opponent  is  this, 
that  however  ill  he  may  think  of  other  people's  (Jod,  he 
has  no  reason  to  think  better  of  his  own.  li'  he  is 
driven  to  accept  a  scheme  of  doctrine  on  this  ground, 
he  surrenders  his  higher  sentiment  to  a  lower  necessity, 
and  betrays  the  tlevoutness  of  his  faith  from  shame  at  a 
logical  reproach. 

The  cogency  of  this  reasoning  appears  to  us  not  less 
questionable  than  its  piety.  '  Granting  even  that  every 
ugly  feature  found  in  the  received  "scheme  of  redemp- 
tion" may  be  refound  in  the  "scheme  of  creation,"  we 


KELIGIOUS    TFIOUGIIT.  219 

submit  that  it  occupies  a  totally  diiierent  place  in  the 
two,  —  constituting  the  very  text  and  substance  of 
the  one,  and  only,  as  it  were,  a  foot-note  in  an  appendix 
of  the  other.  In  the  constitution  of  the  world,  those 
parts  and  arrangements  which  perplex  our  sense  of  the 
Divine  justice  and  goodness  are  insignificant  exceptions 
in  a  grand  and  righteous  whole  ;  and  the  gloom  thev 
would  occasion,  did  they  stand  alone,  is  lost  in  a  "more 
exceeding  gloiy."  They  do  not  speak  the  essence  and 
si)irit  of  the  system  ;  tliey  are  the  silent  enigmas  that 
lie  out  of  relation  to  it ;  and  arc  superable  by  faith  only 
from  their  relative  unimportance.  It  is  otherwise  with 
the  doctrines  by  which  the  creeds  offend  the  moral  sense 
and  the  natural  pieties  : —  the  hereditary  curse  of  sin  and 
ruin; — the  eternal  pimishment  of  helpless  incapacity; 
—  the  conveyance  of  an  alien  holiness  by  imputation, 
and  the  transfer  of  an  infinite  penalty  from  an  offending 
race  to  a  saving  God; — these  are  no  exceptional  inci- 
dents in  the  orthodox  scheme,  but  its  organic  members, 
its  very  plan  and  life,  the  only  thing  it  has  to  offer  in 
exemplification  of  the  character  of  God.  These  are  not 
the  "difificulties "' of  its  "revelation,"  but  the  whole  of 
it;  if  these  are  not  revealed,  —  its  advocates  will  tell 
you,  —  nothing  is  revealed  ;  and  a  theology  that  omits 
them  wants  "the  essentials"  of  the  Christian  faith. 
Thus  the  darkness,  the  negations,  the  sorrows  of  Natu- 
ral Religion  are  made,  not  simply  to  re-appear  in  this 
Christianity,  but  to  constitute  it  and  be  the  only  soul  it 
lias  ;  while  the  illuminated  side  of  theism  suffers  eclipse 
and  falls  into  shadow  as  u  "non-essential."  This  invei- 
sion  in  the  proportion  of  light  to  gloom  on  passing  from 
the  one  system  to  the  other  appears  to  us   utterly  to 


220  maxsel's  limits  of 

vitiate  the  co::c!usion  from  tlicir  Anal.);;y  ;  iuJcetl,  in 
strictness,  to  destroy  the  Analoiify  itself. 

Nor  is  this  the  only  fsiUacy  involved  in  Butler's  rea- 
soning. His  fundamental  maxim,  that  "Revelation  and 
nature,  having  the  same  Author,  may  be  ex[)e(;ted  to 
exhibit  the  same  features,''^  may  he  admitted,  until  he 
adds,  "  and  therefore  to  contain  the  sdnie  difficaltiea" 
There  is,  we  suppose,  some  limit  to  the  reseuihlauee 
which  may  he  reasonably  looked  for  between  the  two 
systems.  No  one's  anticipations  would  be  satisfied  by 
their  being  perfectly  alike,  —  each,  in  its  di!«closures, 
an  exact  fac-aimile  of  the  other.  And  if  so,  — if  the 
presiuiiption  be  irresistible  in  favor  of  some  difference 
in  the  midst  of  the  visible  affinity, — where  should  we 
iitly  seek  for  the  lines  of  divergence?  Surely  the  very 
antithesis,  ^^ Natural"  —  ^^ Hevealed"  is  an  index  to 
the  true  seat  of  contrast.  Precisely  what  Nature  hides, 
is  Inspiration  given  to  unveil ;  it  is  where  the  one  is 
silent  that  the  other  has  to  speak  ;  and  only  in  so  far  as 
the  first  leaves  us  in  the  dinmess  of  perplexity  does  the 
second  vouchsafe  its  light.  The  "difficulties,"  therefore, 
of  unaided  Theism  are  exactly  what  we  should  not 
expect  to  find  over  again  in  a  religion  sent  to  our 
rescue  ;  and  just  in  proportion  as  we  do  ^o,  docs  the 
gift  forfeit  its  character  as  a  "Revelation,"  and  remain 
undifFerenced  from  our  prior  darkness.  To  insist  that, 
the  universe  and  the  gospel  come  from  the  same  Author, 
and  to  forget  that  they  contemplate  different  ends, 
8U])plementary  of  each  other,  is  to  do  violence  to  all 
laws  of  rational  presumption. 

We  are  far  from  saying  that  there  is  any  thing  incon- 
ceivable in  a  partial  revelation,  which  shall  leave  many 


RELIGIOUS    THOUGHT.  221 

o!).=eurities  not  cleared  up  :  nor  dare  we  prescribe,  bv 
iuiy  (i-pvlori  rule,  how  much  must  be  given,  and  how 
imich  left.  We  only  say  that  it  is  the  essence  of" 
revelation  to  dissipate  darkness  ;  that  whatever  it  does, 
be  it  little  or  be  it  much,  must  be  of"  this  kind;  tiiar, 
though  it  may  let  old  perplexities  He  unsolved,  it  con- 
tradicts its  nature  if  it  introduces  new  ones  ;  and  that 
us  its  very  idea  and  aim  is  to  give  the  key  and  method 
of  the  Divine  administration  to  tho.^c  who  were  in 
danger  of  missing  its  spij'it  amid  conflicting  details, 
the  antecedent  probability  is  extreme  in  favor  of  a  lu- 
minous simplicity,  and  against  its  reproducing  the  iden- 
tical riddles  on  which  it  takes  com[)assion. 

We  well  know  that  to  question  Sutler's  perfection  is, 
in  the  eyes  of  churchmen,  little  short  of  the  sin  against 
the  Holy  Ghost.  ^Ve  can  honestly  say  that  it  is  not 
witliont  trying  hard  to  believe  in  him,  and  not  without 
admiring  I'ecognition  of  his  merits  as  an  ethical  thinker, 
that  we  find  his  theology,  as  expressed  in  his  great 
work,  op[)ressive  to  the  religious  feeling  and  unsound 
in  its  logical  elaboration.  This  being  the  ease,  it  is 
not  sur[)rislng  that  l)i'.  Mansel's  book  gives  us  just  the 
same  ex[)erience  :  for  it  is  essentially  an  adaptation  of 
the  same  argument  to  the  altered  conditions  of  modern 
philoso[)iiy.  The  chief  difi'erence  is  the  fallowing. 
Butler  ccmcerned  himself  witli  the  outward  constitution 
of  things  in  both  the  spheres  which  he  compaix'd,  — 
with  the  actual  laws  and  arrangen.en;  s  of  the  world 
on  the  one  hand,  the  organic  facts  and  system  of 
rcdtMn[)tion  on  the  otiier.  For  every  thing  ap])arently 
objectionable  in  the  latter  he  was  ready  witii  some  cor- 
responding ill  look  iu  the  former  ;    and  having  set  the 


222  maxsel's  limits  of 

deformities  in  equilibrium,  there  he  left  them  to  cancel 
each  other.  How  far  they  are  real  or  not  is  indifferent 
to  his  reasoninj^,  which  dwells  only  on  their  parallelism, 
not  on  their  intrinsic  validity.  He  no  further  accounts 
for  them  than  by  referring  to  the  small  measure  of  our 
present  faculty  as  applied  to  the  immensity  of  the  Divine 
scheme ;  and  supposes  that  they  would  disappear,  even 
from  our  view,  were  our  horizon  enlarged,  and  a  widet, 
survey  obtained  over  the  relations  of  things.  Dr. 
Mansel,  on  the  other  hnnd,  rests  nothing  on  tlie  ol)- 
jcctive  analogy  of  natural  and  supernatural  arrange- 
ments, and  every  thing  on  the  subjective  incapacity  of 
the  intellect  for  dealing  with  either :  his  ])lea  is,  not 
that  God  has  set  similar  puzzles  in  the  world  as  in  the 
gospel,  but  that  man  brings  the  same  logical  dis(|uali- 
ficati(m  to  both.  It  matters  not,  therefore,  in  his  argU' 
ment,  what  the  particular  adjustments  of  nature  or 
doctrines  of  Scripture  may  be  :  change  them  ever  so 
much,  on  this  side  or  on  that,  they  would  suit  us  no 
better.  Our  difficulties  are  not  in  the  things,  but  in 
ourselves; — not  matters  of  degree,  brooding  heavily 
here  and  vanishing  there,  and  variable  witii  our  oppor- 
tunities ;  but,  being  carried  about  with  us  in  tlie  very 
structure  of  our  faculties,  are  constant  for  every  pos- 
sible system,  and  never  short  of  irremediable  contra- 
diction. Tiiat  the  rationalistic  critique  of  the  orthodox 
faith  is  successful  in  finding  insuperable  inconsistencies, 
is  not  denied ;  but  you  have  only,  it  is  said,  to 
apply  the  same  logical  experiment  to  any  religious 
philosoi)hy  whatsoever,  and  it  will  equally  disappear 
under  the  process.  Thought  lies  under  a  fatal  dis- 
ability with  regard  to  Divine  things,  and    is    doomed 


RELIGIOUS    THOUGHT.  223 

to  frame  its   religion    out    of   liopelessly   incompiitible 
beliefs. 

There  is  something-  veiy  tempting  to  a  reasoner  in  a 
principle  of  this  kind,  —  the  discovery  of  a  subjective 
incompetence.  It  dues  great  execution  on  very  easy 
terms.  It  saves  all  trouble  of  external  reconnoitring 
and  comparison  of  evidence,  and  serves  for  every  case 
alike.  It  despatches  all  enemies  with  one  instrument : 
a  sort  of  unicorn  polemic  that,  like  the  beast  in  the  book 
of  Daniel,  "  pushes  "  impartially  against  all  the  cardinal 
points.  Dr.  ]\Ianscl,  accordingly,  by  a  single  opera- 
tion, clears  the  field  of  all  opponents  at  once  ;  he  has 
only  to  wave  his  metaphysical  wand,  and  pronounce  his 
universal  incantation,  and  tliey  turn  into  jihantoms,  and 
disappear  into  his  appendix;  —  a  misceHaneous  prison- 
house,  where  all  evil  spirits  are  reserved  for  judgment. 
There  would  seem  to  be  some  little  difference  between 
the  springs  of  doubt  in  ethical  minds  like  Theodore 
Parker's  or  Francis  Newman's,  and  in  jnystical,  like 
Bruno  and  Schelling,  —  between  the  akosmism  of 
Spinoza  and  the  atheism  of  Comte,  —  between  the 
historical  scepticism  of  Strauss  or  Baur  and  the  specu- 
lative dialectic  of  Ilegcl,  —  between  the  busine.^s-like 
rationalism  of  the  Socini  and  the  impersonal  theology 
of  Schleiermacher  :  and  he  indeed  must  be  a  fortun;»te 
divine  who  has  found  an  answer  that  will  serve  for  all. 
The  danger  of  such  a  comprehensive  refutation  alwavd 
is,  lest  it  should  inadvertently  include  yourself.  It  is 
difficult  to  set  so  large  an  a[)petite  to  work,  and  stand 
yourself  out  of  reach  of  its  voracity.  And  we  have 
seritnis  fears  that  Dr.  Mansel  must  sooner  or  later  fuLI 
a  victim  to  the  hunger  of  his  own  logic. 


224  jiansel's  limits  of 

Tlic  mighty  spell  which  is  to  paralyze  ull  heretical 
critics  at  a  stroke  is  no  other  than  Sir  William  Hamil- 
ton's princi|)le,  that  the  Infinite  cannot  he  known, 
because  to  know  is  to  discriminate,  and  what  is  dis- 
criminated is  finite  ;  or,  again,  to  state  the  matter  in 
another  form,  that  the  Absolute  cannot  be  known, 
because  to  know  is  to  apprehend  relations,  and  what 
is  related  is  not  absolute.  The  rule  may  be  expressed 
in  the  terms  of  various  other  antitheses  :  that  thought, 
as  such,  can  deal  only  with  that  which  is  condilloned, 
and  which  is  j^liwal;  and  must  therefore  find  uncou- 
ditioned  and  unitary  being  inaccessible.  This  inability 
to  think  or  aj)prehend,  except  by  relation  and  differ- 
ence, is  assumed  to  be  a  human  limitaticm  of  fiiculty, 
a  provincial  incom[)ctency,  a  negation  of  mental  light 
r.nd  power.  And  the  realm  from  which  it  excludes 
us  is  precisely,  we  are  told,  the  religious  realm  :  for 
God  is  that  infinite,  absolute,  unconditioned  unity,  the 
knowledge  of  whoui  contradicts  the  very  natiu'c  of 
thought.  Hence  there  can  be  no  [)hIlosophy  of  reli- 
gion. Every  attempt  to  construct  such  a  system  has 
to  substitute  spurious  counterfeits  of  the  genuine  Divine 
essentials:  for  ])ositive  "Infinitude,"  the  siuiply  Indcji- 
nilt;  for  the  "Absolute"  per  .se,  the  mere  ground- 
term  of  a  Relation ;  ft)r  the  "  Unconditioned,"  the 
ccmditioning  antecedent.  Not  only  are  these  ambitious 
impostures  in  contradiction  with  the  legitimate  originals 
(the  "indefinite,"  for  instance,  being  susceptible  of 
increase,  while  the  "Infinite"  is  not)  ;  but  they  are 
themselves  only  illusions,  —  negations  of  thought  rather 
than  thou'dits, — the  mental  backy-roimd  on  which  our 
j)ositive  conceptions  rise  and  display  themselves.     No 


RELIGIOUS    THOUGHT.  225 

ingenuity  can  avail  to  rescue  us  from  this  inherent 
disqualification  :  no  spasmodic  sj)nng  can  carry  us  over 
the  chasm  that  parts  our  intellect  from  all  divine  knowl- 
edge :  no  cautious  steps  and  steady  eye  can  find  a 
bottom  to  the  cleft  between.  A  critique  of  religion  is 
impossible  to  a  mind  which  is  condemned  by  its  consti- 
tution to  a  faith  coujposed  of  contradictions. 

In  order  to  show  the  different  forms  in  wliich  these 
inevitable  contradictions  crop  up,  our  author  reviews, 
lirst,  the  metaphysical  systems  which  form  themselves, 
like  Spinoza's  and  Hegel's,  by  evolution  from  the  su- 
preme teims  of  thought,  —  the  Infinite,  the  Absolute, 
the  Causal,  —  as  their  data,  and  endeavor  from  this 
ontological  beginning  to  find  a  deductive  path  into  and 
through  the  phenomenal  world  of  nature  and  humanity  : 
and  then,  the  Psychological  systems  which,  inversely, 
commence  from  the  laws  of  human  consciousness,  — 
the  sense  of  dependence,  the  belief  of  origination,  the 
feeling  of  obligation,  —  and  attemj)t  thence  to  ex[)l()re 
a  passage  into  the  hyperphysical  and  divine  world.  In 
the  former,  the  finite  can  never  attain  to  its  rights  or  at 
all  emerge  from  the  ])anthcistic  whole  ;  nor  can  any 
predicates  be  attaclied  to  the  Infinite  :  for,  on  the 
])rinci[)lc  that  onuii.s  determinatio  est  nerjdtiu,  it  |)arts 
with  its  essence  by  gaining  an  attribute,  and,  unless  it 
is  to  lose  its  affirmati\e  reality,  nuist  f)r  evei-  remain 
the  blank  of  Being.  In  the  latter  order  of  systems, 
on  tlie  other  hand,  we  can  never  es('a|)e  from  the  finite  : 
if  wc  wait  for  logical  stepping-stones  to  the  other  side, 
we  shall  wait  for  ever,  and  have  no  resource  but  to 
lodge  in  an  atheistic  world  ;  and  if,  rather  than  this,  we 
convey  into   a  presumed   Infinite   our   ideas  ot   l*erson- 


226  mansel's  limits  of 

ality,  Intellect,  and  Character,  we  do  but  deny  the 
essence  we  mean  to  enrich,  and  in  the  same  breath 
affirm  limitation  and  disclaim  it.  The  self-destructive 
nature  of  the  fundamental  conceptions  of  rational 
theology  is  thus  exhibited  : 

" These  thiei;  conceptions,  —  the  Cause,  the  Absolute,  the 
Infinite,  —  all  equally  indispensable,  do  they  not  imply  con- 
tradiction to  each  other,  when  viewed  in  conjunction,  as 
attiibutes  of  one  and  the  same  being ?  A  Cause  ciuinot,  as 
such,  be  absolute ;  the  Absolute  cannot,  as  such,  be  a  cause. 
The  cause,  as  such,  exists  only  in  relation  to  its  efTect ;  the 
cause  is  a  cause  of  the  effect ;  the  effect  is  an  effect  of 
the  cause.  On  the  other  hand,  the  conception  of  the  Abso- 
lute implies  a  possible  existence  out  of  all  relation.  We 
attempt  to  escape  from  this  apparent  contradiction,  by  intro- 
ducing the  idea  of  succession  in  time.  The  Absolute  exists 
first  by  itself,  and  afterwards  becomes  a  Cause.  But  here  we 
are  checked  by  the  third  conception,  that  of  the  Infinite. 
How  can  the  Infinite  become  that  which  it  was  not  from 
the  first  ?  If  causation  is  a  possible  mode  of  existence,  that 
which  exists  without  causing  is  not  infinite,  that  which  be- 
comes a  cause  has  passed  beyond  its  former  limits.  Creation 
at  any  particular  moment  of  time  being  thus  inconceivable, 
the  philosopher  is  reduced  to  the  alternative  of  pantheism, 
which  pronounces  the  effect  to  be  mere  appearance,  and 
merges  all  real  exi-tence  in  the  cause.  The  validity  of  this 
alternative  will  be  examined  presently. 

•'  Meanwhile,  to  return  for  a  moment  to  the  supposition  of 
a  true  causation.  Supposing  the  Absolute  to  become  a  cause, 
it  will  follow  that  it  operates  by  means  of  free-will  and  con- 
sciousness. For  a  necessary  cause  cannot  be  conceived  as 
absolute  and  infinite.  If  necessitated  by  something  beyond 
itself,  it  is  thereby  limited  by  a  su]>erior  power ;  and  if  neces- 
sitated by  itself,  it  has  in  its  own  nature  a  necessary  relation 


RELIGIOUS   THOUGHT.  227 

to  its  effect.  The  act  of  causation  must  therefore  be  volun- 
tary; and  volition  is  only  possible  in  a  conscious  being.  I5ut 
consciousness,  again,  is  only  conceivable  as  a  relation.  TIkm-c 
must  be  a  conscious  subject  and  an  object  of  which  he  is 
conscious.  The  subject  is  a  subject  to  the  olyect ;  the  objcL't 
is  an  object  to  the  subject;  and  neither  can  exist  by  itself  as 
the  Absolute.  This  difficulty,  again,  may  be  for  the  moment 
evaded,  by  distinguishing  between  tlie  Absolute  as  ndated  to 
another  and  the  Absolute  as  related  to  itself.  The  Al)solute, 
it  may  be  sai<l,  may  possibly  be  conscious,  provided  it  is  o:dy 
cojiscious  of  itself.  But  liiis  alternative  is,  in  ultimate  analy- 
sis, no  less  self-destructive  than  the  other.  For  the  object 
of  consciousness,  wlietlier  a  mode  of  the  subject's  existence 
or  uot,  is  either  created  in  and  by  the  act  of  consciousness,  or 
has  an  existence  independent  of  it.  In  the  former  case,  tlie 
object  depends  upon  th^j  subjc-t,  and  the  subject  alone  is 
the  true  absolute.  In  the  latter  case,  the  subject  depends 
upon  the  object,  and  the  object  alone  is  the  true  absolute. 
Or,  if  we  attempt  a  tliird  hypothesis,  and  maintain  that  each 
exists  independently  of  the  other,  we  have  no  absolute  at  all, 
but  only  a  pair  of  relatives;  for  co-existence,  whether  in  con- 
sciousness or  not,  is  itself  a  relation"  (p.  47). 

Tlie  general  conclusion  which  Dr.  jSIansel  draws 
from  this  Strait  der  Facultiiten  is  hardly  what  the 
premises  would  lead  us  to  expect.  Our  idea  of  the 
"Infinite,"  being  merely  negative,  would  seem  to  be 
the  index  to  no  positive  reality.  Oiu'  idea  of  "  Verson- 
ality,"  being  a  mere  reflection  of  our  limited  conscious- 
ness, is  declared  to  be  incai)able  of  application  to  a 
iiature  not  finite.  Yet  we  are  assured  ([).  81))  that  it 
is  "our  duty  to  think  of  God  as  personal  :  and  it  is  our 
duty  to  believe  that  He  is  infinite,"  thougli  the  two 
conceptions  contradict  each  other.      Tlic  notion  of  "  la- 


228  hansel's  limits  oi' 

finitiidc "  is  at  once  "inadmissible"  in  tlieology,  and 
yet  "indispensable."  Nor  is  this  li  uniliating  necessity 
of  compounding  a  faith  out  of  contradictories  at  all 
])eculiar  to  our  Religion.  AH  the  fundamental  pos- 
tulates of  thought,  —  Time,  Space,  Substance,  Power, 
—  are  in  the  same  j)light ;  introducing  us  to  entities 
>vhicli  we  cannot  harmonize  with  our  expeiicnce  of 
])henomona.  In  all  these  cases  nothing  is  left  to  us 
but  to  accept  the  ontological  ideas  as  true  reldtivehj  to 
lis,  — given  forms  of  our  thouy-ht,  —  but  to  beware  of 
regarding  them  as  valid  for  things  in  themselves,  or  for 
any  point  of  mcw  beyond  our  own.  \^  hether  thev  do 
or  do  not  represent  realities  as  they  are,  we  cannot  tell : 
but  as  we  are  imprisoned  within  them,  they  are  regu- 
lative truth  for  our  minds,  though  having  no  claim  to 
the  character  of  speculative  truth,  imaging  what  lies  in 
the  outer  daylight  of  the  universe  beyond  our  dreams. 

Our  readers  will  at  once  recognize  in  this  sketch  a 
reviv.al  of  the  princi[)les  of  Kant ;  who,  by  resolving 
into  subjective  conditions  all  our  ontological  and  per- 
ceptive assumptions,  left  the  intellect  in  idealistic  insu- 
lation, and  blew  up  every  bridge  by  which  thought 
could  pass  to  the  mainland  of  real  Being.  Dr.  Mansel, 
however,  is  more  thorough-going  still.  Kant,  it  is 
well  known,  recovered  in  his  treatise  on  the  Practical 
Itcason  the  ground  he  had  abandoned  in  his  analysis 
of  the  Speculative:  and  aiuhorizcd  the  resumption,  as 
presupj)ositions  of  conscience,  of  the  very  faiths,  in 
moral  freedom,  responsibility,  and  absolute  divine  law, 
which  no  dialectic  was  able  to  guarantee.  Our  author 
coujplains  of  this  as  an  inconsefpience  ;  and  carrying 
his   own   scepticism   steadily  through,   involves  Morals 


RELIGIOUS    THOUGHT.  229 

with  Theology  in  the  same  sentence  of  mere  sul)jectiv- 
ity,  rendering  their  ideas  inapplicable,  except  in  conde- 
scension to  our  incapacities,  to  any  sphere  beyond  the 
human.*  We  may  indeed  —  perhaps  must  —  speak 
of  an  Absolute  Morality  :  but  the  phrase  involves  a 
contradiction  in  terms  ;  for  the  moment  we  try  any 
ethical  conception  u})on  an  Infinite  nature,  it  is  swal- 
lowed up  and  disappears.  Emotion  and  change,  such 
as  are  insejiarablc  from  disapproval  or  com})assion, 
from  either  free  forgiveness  or  conditional  reconcilia- 
tion, and  from  openness  to  prayer,  are  incomiiatible 
with  immutable  self-identity  :  yet,  on  the  otlier  hand, 
the  alternative  suppositions,  of  an  ethical  neutrality  or 
an  optionless  and  necessitated  justice,  no  less  im{)ose 
limits  on  the  perfection  of  Being.  On  this  side  also, 
our  author  contends,  all  religious  belief  is  necessarily  a 
tissue  of  contradictions,  ])r()tectcd  only  by  tlie  existence 
of  equal  contradictions  in  any  scheme  of  unbelief.  The 
conclusion  from  the  whole  is,  that,  in  our  natural 
Tiieism,  we  must  hold  to  botli  of  the  incompatible 
terms,  the  existence  of  the  Infinite  that  can  have  no 
predicates,  and  the  truth  of  tiie  Finite  predicates  he 
cannot  have ;  and  that,  bringing  this  state  of  mind 
to  the  scheme  of  Redemption,  we  are  in  no  condition  to 

*  It  is  witli  jrn'iit  (lifHdc'iice  that,  spdakiiii;  from  mcinorv  aloiic,  we  call 
in  questidi)  a  statc-iiii'iit  n's])eL-tin}j;  Kant,  r<.']ieate(lK'  inadu  or  iinpliod  !>/  so 
studious  and  careful  a  writer  as  Dr.  Mansel.  Hut  wo  know  of  no  autliorily 
for  the  following;  representation,  and  cannot  jtersuade  ourselves  that  Kant 
lias  onywliL're  exposed  himself  to  so  reasonable  a  criticism:  "  Kant  un(|ues- 
tionalily  went  too  far,  in  asseriinj;  that  tliinj;s  in  tiiemselves  arc  not  as  iliev 
appear  to  our  faculties;  the  utmost  that  his  premises  could  warrant  him  in 
asserting  is,  that  we  cannot  tell  whether  they  are  so  or  not"  (p.  ;i48).  Dr. 
JIansel  produces  no  citation,  and  ali'ords  no  means  of  verillcation.  Certainly, 
if  Kav.t  ever  said  sudi  a  thinj,',  he  not  oidy  "  went  too  far,"  but  'ell  into 
variance  with  the  whole  spirit  of  his  philosophy. 


230  hansel's  limits  of 

cast  the  first  stone  at  its  seeming  inconsistencies,  but 
are  bound  to  content  ourselves  with  estimating  its 
evidences,  witliout  attempting  a  critique  of  its  doc- 
trines. Taken  at  their  worst,  they  are  as  good  as 
ours. 

This  line  of  thought,  we  must  confess,  appears  to  us 
even  painfully  precarious.  Suppose,  for  argument's 
sake,  that  we  grant  the  premises,  and  say,  with  Sir 
W.  Hamilton,  that  only  the  Finite  can  be  given  us  in 
thought;  that  the  Infinite  is  for  us  only  a  negation, — 
a  subjective  inability  to  think;  and  that  relative  con- 
ceptions, on  such  a  subject,  are  equivalent  to  ignorance. 
How  far  do  these  assum])tions  bear  out  Dr.  jNIantiol's 
conclusion,  that  we  must  throw  ourselves  on  Revela- 
tion? They  establish  conditions  which  make  all  reve- 
lation impossible. 

Let  us  allow  for  the  moment  that,  by  the  constitu- 
tion of  our  faculties,  we  have  (as  our  author  s:iys)  a 
legitimate  belief  in  the  existence  of  the  Infinite,  but 
a  total  inability  to  attach  any  predicates  to  this  subject. 
How  can  such  a  Being,  so  cut  oft'  from  all  [)ossible 
access  to  our  minds,  reveal  himself  to  us?  As  well 
might  you  say  that  Silence  can  make  a  speech.  An 
existence  without  predicates  is  a  non-existence  :  as  Dr. 
Mansel  himself  admits,  ''pure  being  is"  to  us  "pure 
nothing"  (p.  328).  That  negation  should  send  a  mes- 
sage to  nescience  appeai-s  not  readily  conceivable  ;  nor 
can  we  imagine  in  what  the  "  evidences "  of  such  a 
conununication  could  consist. 

But  do  the  premises  really  guarantee  to  us  even  the 
bare  existence  of  the  Infinite?  We  cannot  see  how. 
The  only  ground  for  this  faith  which  Dr.  Mansel  ever 


kKLIGIOUS    THOrOHT.  231 

jircsents  is,  "  that  ouv  whole  consciousness  is  conipnssed 
about  with  restrictions,  which  we  are  ever  strivins^  to 
pass,  and  ever  failing  in  the  effort"  (p.  121).  But 
the  bird  in  the  cage  and  the  captive  in  his  cell  learn 
notiiing',  by  their  vain  efforts,  of  the  world  bevond.  It 
is  a  marvellous  thing  to  affirm  that  every  incompetency 
implies  an  Infinitude.  Our  mental  limits  are  evidence 
of  no  more  than  that  the  intellect  is  less  than  the 
intelligible.  If,  moreover,  we  are  capable  of  discover- 
ing, with  Hamilton  and  Mansel,  that  this  "Infinite," 
which  we  are  to  endow  with  "  existence,"  is  but  a 
subjective  negation,  the  mocking  shadow  of  our  own 
impotence,  we  lose  every  ground  for  holding  to  its 
objective  reality.  The  very  discovery  itself  consists  in 
nothing  else  than  the  detection  of  untrustworthiness 
in  the  belief.  What  does  it  amount  to  but  this,  — 
that  our  cognitive  fjiculties  are  constructed  without 
provision  for  any  thing  beyond  phenomenal  knowledge, 
—  that  we  are  made  exclusively  for  the  finite,  not  for 
the  infinite?"  And  this  is  only  to  say  that,  whether 
there  be  an  Infinite  or  not,  is  a  question  beyond  our 
affirmation  or  denial. 

Turn  the  matter  which  way  you  will,  this  much  is 
certain  :  to  a  mind  disqualified  in  its  structure  for  a 
"  Philosophy  of  the  Infinite,"  there  can  be  made  no 
Revelation  of  the  Infinite  ;  in  older  form  of  phrase,  if 
natural  religion  be  impossible,  tliroiKjh  incapacity/  in 
the  subject,  so  is  supernatural.  Kelig'ous  ignornnce 
arising  from  defect  in  the  attainable  evidence,  or  \\-on\ 
an  undeveloped  state  of  the  faculties,  may  be  remedied 
by  supplementary  information  or  an  awakening  disci- 
pline.    But  if  the  very  instrument  of  intelligence  carries 


232  m.vnsel's  limits  of 

its  own  darkness  with  it,  and  is  fated  ever  to  turn  its 
blind  side  to  God,  then  it  stands  similarly  related  to  all 
possible  media  of  expression,  and  there  are  no  terms  on 
which  Divine  light  can  be  had.  Where  the  receptive 
power  is  at  fault,  it  is  vain  to  nudtiply  and  intensify 
communication  :  as  well  might  you  hang  a  blind  asylum 
with  chandeliers,  and  exjject  that,  though  the  daylight 
was  useless,  the  brilliancy  at  night  would  tell.  If  there 
are  no  predicates  of  God  assured  to  us  by  Reason,  or 
only  such  as  contradict  each  other  and  open  the  way  to 
opposing  possibilities ;  if  we  have  only  such  knowl- 
edge (?)  of  Him  as  either  may  or  may  not  represent 
Him  as  He  is  (p.  146)  ;  if  we  can  affirm  nothing 
of  Him  that  might  not  with  equal  reason  be  denied ; 
—  there  are  no  discriminative  marks  by  which  He  and 
His  .igency  may  be  recognized  :  for  the  unknown  has 
no  characteristics.  Our  incompetency  extends  there- 
fore further  than  Dr.  Mansel  contemplates, — to  the 
siuns  and  evidences  of  Revelation,  as  well  as  its  con- 
tents ;  and  the  paralysis  of  Natural  Religion  is  the 
suppi-ession  of  Revealed. 

Our  author's  logic,  then,  in  mowing  down  its  thistle- 
field,  inconsiderately  mows  off  its  own  legs.  He  cuts 
away  the  only  supports  on  which  religious  thought  can 
rest  or  move;  and  nothing  short  of  an  unqualified  onto- 
logical  scepticism  is  in  agreement  with  his  premises. 
^Ve  cannot  in  the  least  discover  wht/,  on  his  [)riiu.'iplcs, 
we  are  lo  believe  either  of  the  two  contradictories 
which  he  requires  us  to  hold  in  combination,  —  that 
God  is  infinite,  that  God  is  personal.  He  disparages 
the  sources  of  cognition  from  which  we  receive  these 
propositions,  yet  keeps  their  allegations  on  his  books. 


EELIGIOUS    THOUGHT.  233 

I\'  tlie  witnesses  are  untrustworthy,  Avliy  let  their  testi- 
mony fix  the  main  points  of  the  case?  The  "infinite" 
beino;  unmeaninir  for  us,  and  tlie  "  personal ''  unmeaning 
in  God,  what  title  can  they  show  to  joint  hold  on  our 
belief?  No  intellectual  intuition,  no  consciousness,  no 
legitimate  inference,  can  assure  us  of  either ;  where, 
then,  are  their  credentials?  To  these  questions  we  find 
no  reply  except  that  disbelief,  if  we  choose  to  try  it, 
will  bring  no  logical  gain.  Tills  is  a  good  argument 
for  a  Pyrrhonist,  who  would  maintain  us  in  indetermi- 
nate equipoise,  but  is  inconvertihie  to  the  ])urposes 
of  the  Christian  philosopher  and  divine.  The  habit  of 
dealing  with  derivative  ste])s  of  thought  is  not  favorable 
to  a  firm  grasp  of  the  primary  data ;  and  we  cannot 
help  thinking  that  Dr.  jNIansel's  own  mind  is  not  cleur 
with  regard  to  the  ultimate  roots  of  religious  belief. 
He  cleverly  pursues  and  breaks  the  track  of  many  a 
system  of  erratic  metapliysics  ;  but,  fascinated  with  the 
hunt  of  delusion  and  incompetency,  he  pushes  the  rout 
too  far,  and,  as  it  seems  to  us.  rides  over  the  brink  of 
the  solid  world,  and  falls  into  the  abysses. 

And  now,  having  argued  the  matter  from  our  au- 
thor's premises,  we  must  confess  and  justify  our  discon- 
tent with  them.  We  cannot  admit  the  doctrine  of  the 
religious  incompetency  of  the  human  faculties ;  and 
the  wide  concurrence  in  it  of  schools  apparently  op|)o- 
site,  —  of  Mill  and  Comte,  of  Hamilton  and  Manse), 
—  will  hereafter,  we  conceive,  be  looked  upon  as  no 
less  curious  a  phenomenon  than  the  ovation  with  which, 
in  the  last  century,  the  Critical  Philoso[)hy  was  carried 
off  along  the  most  divergent  paths  of  thought.  Unde- 
terred  bv  the  fashion  of  the  dav  and  the  influence  of 


23  4  maxsel's  limits  of 

aiithoiitative  names,  wc  do  not  hesitate  to  l)r»Vn'\e 
Avitli  Cousin,  that  there  is  a  lei^itiniate  "  [>assa£;e  f'ronj 
psychology  to  ontology,"  and  to  protest  against  the 
paradox  that  human  intelligence,  in  its  highest  exer- 
cise, can  only  mock  us  with  impossibilities  and  contra- 
dictions. 

To  put  the  matter  into  the  shortest  ftn*mula,  let  us 
say,  we  admit  the  relative  character  of  human  thought 
as  a  psychological  fact ;  we  deny  it  as  an  ontological 
discpialifieation.  All  acts  of  the  uiiiid,  whether  crea- 
tive or  ai)prchensive,  are  undoubtedly  discriu»inative,  a 
procedure  from  a  less  to  a  more  determinate  state.  As 
self-conscious,  they  carry  with  them  the  distinction 
between  subject  and  object;  and  as  directed  upjn  this, 
and  not  on  that,  tliey  cut  out  a  definite  from 'an  indefi- 
nite. To  conceive,  to  know,  to  reflect,  is  in  every  case 
to  deal  exclusively  with  difference  and  relation  ;  men- 
tal action  is  dualistic,  not  monistic.  So  far  we  are 
agieed. 

Is,  then,  this  relativitij  an  incompetency  or  a  quali- 
fication for  thinking?  a  cognitive  limitation,  or  a  cogni- 
tive power?  Our  author,  following  Sir  W.  Hamilton, 
treats  it  as  a  provincial  restriction  im{)osed  upon  our 
nature,  barring  us  from  escape  into  the  realm  of  real 
rather  than  seeming  knowledge,  and  under  the  show  of 
science  dooming  us  to  nescience.  Is  there  any  ])lea  for 
such  disparagement  and  distrust  beyond  the  argument 
which,  in  parallel  case,  Hegel  wittily  attributed  to 
Kant:  "It  cannot  be  true,  because  wc  think  it"? 
What  reason  is  there  to  suppose  that  in  natures  higher 
than  ours  there  is  another  sort  of  knowledge  in  which 
nothing    is    differenced,   and   even   the   kuower  is   not 


EELIGIOLS    THOUGHT.  2o5 

separated  from  the  known?  And  if  such  a  conditi)!! 
of  being  existed,  would  it  legitimately  rank  as  move 
intelligent  or  less  intelligent  than  ours?  And  again, 
where  is  the  field  of  otherwise  possible  knowledge  from 
which  this  relativity  excludes  us?  Drop  the  limit,  and 
what  new  reaches  of  being  do  you  bring  within  the 
intellectual  horizon  ?  Nothing  surely  can  be  more 
arbitrary  than  to  treat  the  very  essence  of  a  faculty 
as  the  negation  of  faculty,  and  complain  of  the  eye  as 
enablino-  us  to  do  nothiniT:  but  see,  and  condemninu'  us 
to  see  only  what  is  visible.  That  we  cannot  think 
except  by  differencing,  means  only  that  we  cannot 
know  where  there  is  nothing  to  be  known,  or  that  we 
cannot  use  a  function  without  ha\  ing  it.  If  intelligence 
consists  in  distinguishing,  how  can  distinguishing  be  an 
incompetency  to  understand?  And  docs  the  "compe- 
tency "  of  the  most  perfect  intellect  consist  in  this, — 
that  it  dispenses  with  differences,  and  sees  all  things 
to  be  equally  true,  and  truth  itself  identical  with  false- 
hood ? 

But,  it  will  be  said,  this  relative  character  of  knowl- 
edge at  all  events  limits  you  to  the  finite,  and  precludes 
access  to  God  as  Infinite.  On  the  contrary,  we  submit 
that  relative  apprehension  is  always  and  necessarily  (jf 
two  terms  together  :  if  of  sound,  then  also  of  silence  ; 
if  of  succession,  then  also  of  duration  ;  if  of  the  finite, 
then  also  of  the  infinite.  It  is  the  Tinonnv  wevdo,'  of 
.Spinoza,  of  Schelling,  of  Ilegel,  of  all  monistic  specu- 
lative systems,  that  they  set  up  in  isolated  suj>remacy 
one  of  two  inse{)arab!e  data  of  thought,  and  then  en- 
deavor to  educe  the  other  out  of  it ;  and  Dr.  Mansel 
falls,  we  think,  into  the  same  snare.      He  strains  after 


2?>C)  mansel's  limits  op 

ill!  Infinite  that  shall  exclude  tlic  Finite  ;  an  Absolute 
that  ^liall  emerge  from  all  lielation  ;  a  ('ausality  that 
shall  lie  pure  of"  all  conditions.  It'  Theism  were  staked 
on  his  finding  such  things,  his  despair  of"  it  would  be 
natural  enough.  For  these  conceptions,  wiiich  he  de- 
nies to  be  on  speaking  terms,  are  in  each  case  Siamese 
twins,  hetwecn  which  any  affectation  of  estrangement 
cannot  tail  to  be  higidy  inconvenient.  They  come  into 
existence  before  our  thought  together,  and  have  tlieir 
living  nieaning  only  in  pairs;  one  of  the  two  giving 
us  the  constant  and  ontological  ground,  the  otlier  the 
phenomenal  manifestation.  The  attem[)t  to  think  away 
the  finite  from  the  presence  of  the  infinite,  or  vlceversu^ 
must  inevitably  fail ;  and  of  the  two  schemes  to  which 
the  attempt  gives  rise,  viz.  that  which  says  "entities  only 
can  be  known,"  and  that  which  says  "phenomena  only 
can  be  known,"  both  are  to  be  unhesitatingly  rejected. 
Two  other  possibilities  remain,  viz.  the  Idealism  which, 
treating  all  "  relation  "  as  a  subjective  economy  of  ours, 
pronounces  that  we  know  neither;  and  the  Realism 
which,  taking  relations  in  the  mind  as  exponents  of  re- 
lations out,  decides  that  we  know  both.  It  is  on  this 
hist  alone  that,  in  our  view,  a  sound  philosophy  can 
take  its  stand. 

The  position  taken  up  against  this  doctrine  rests  on 
the  distinction  between  positive  and  negative  ideas. 
Of  the  finite,  it  is  said  we  have  a  positive  idea  ;  of  the 
infinite,  except  as  the  negative  of  this,  we  have  none 
at  all :  the  one,  therefore,  is  the  exponent  of  an  object- 
ive reality,  the  other  is  only  a  subjective  incapacity. 
1'he  term  which  is  given  to  us  by  experience  is  reliable  : 
its  concomitant,   which   is   supplied   in   thought,  is   an 


KELIGIOLS    THOUGHT.  237 

empty  form.  In  every  case  of  relation  between  ])re- 
sumed  entity  and  perceived  plienonienon,  —  Space  and 
pot^ition,  —  Time  and  succession,  —  Substance  and 
((uality,  —  Infinite  and  finite,  —  the  more  ambitious 
term  is  unaccredited,  —  a  mere  metaphysical  impostor; 
j)iitting  on  the  airs  of  demonstration  and  universal 
vali  lity,  and  pretending  to  hold  good  for  all  possible 
worlds  ;  but,  by  this  very  mark,  betraying  its  close 
confinement  to  our  own  mind  as  the  mere  shape  and 
sliadow  of  our  faculty.  So  far  does  Dr.  Mansel  carry 
this  Kantian  Idealism,  that  he  pronounces  all  judgments 
insecure  and  personal  in  proportion  as  they  are  self- 
evident,  and,  like  the  exact  sciences,  exhibit  the  char- 
acteristics of  Universality  and  Xecessity  (p.  203). 
Now  we  will  not  enter  here  on  the  question  whether 
those  pairs  of  ideas  are  or  are  not  valid  beyond  the 
enclosure  of  our  nature :  that  falls  into  the  general 
controversy  with  the  Idealist.  But  this  we  venture  to 
affirm,  that,  valid  or  invalid,  the  two  terms  of  each  pair 
must  stand  or  fall  together;  and  that,  except  by  an 
arbitrary  coiip-de-te  te ,  one  cannot  be  taken  and  the 
other  left.  Both  are  given  to  us,  —  e.g.  a  limited 
figure  and  the  boundless  Space  from  which  it  is  cut  out, 
—  in  one  and  the  same  mental  act,  and  are  equally 
secured  by  the  veracity,  or  vitiated  by  the  unvcracity, 
of  our  intellectual  constitution.  There  can  be  no  ob- 
jection to  call  the  one  "  positive  "  and  the  other  "  nega- 
tive," provided  it  be  luulerstood  tliat  each  is  so  with 
regard  to  the  other,  and  that  the  relation  is  convertiljle  ; 
the  finite,  for  instance,  being  the  negative  of  the  infinite, 
not  less  than  the  infinite  of  the  finite.  If  more  than 
this  be  meant,  if  the  word   "negative"   is   immovably 


238  maxsel's  limits  of 

fixed  oil  the  ontolo^^ic.al  term,  as  a  disparageinent  of  its 
trustwortliiness  and  an  assertion  that  it  is  obtained  by 
mere  thinking-away  of  sterling  elements,  then  we  dis- 
j)ute  the  doctrine  as  false  alike  to  psychology  and  to 
logic;  and  with  Dr.  M'C'osh,  whom  our  author  unsatis- 
factorily criticises  (p.  338),  contend  for  a  "|)ositive" 
idea  of  the  infinite.  The  attempt  to  resolve  this  idea 
into  that  of  the  "  indefinite,"  does  but  mock  the  feeling 
of  every  precise  thinker.  That  is  "  indefinite,"  to  which 
■we  know  no  end  ;  that  is  "  infinite  "  which  we  know  to 
have  no  end.  The  belief  in  the  one  is  attainable  by 
simply  thinking  limits  away ;  the  belief  in  the  other 
rests  on  the  positive  deijos'ition  of  our  own  faculties, 
which  must  be  either  tjiken  at  their  word  or  dismissed 
as  cheats. 

It  is  perfectly  true  that  of  the  Infinite,  whether  of 
Space,  Time,  or  other  mode  of  Being,  we  can  form  no 
mental  representation;  and  that,  when  we  try  to  do 
so,  we  can  only  resort  to  a  vain  stretching  of  the  finite 
till  we  are  tired  and  give  it  up.  We  suspect  that  this  is 
what  is  meant  when  the  idea  is  identified  with  a  mere 
inability  to  think  ;  for  certainly  many  of  the  "  contra- 
dictions "  charged  upon  it  are  sim[)ly  cases  of  baffled 
imagination.  I5ut  it  is  no  o!)jection  to  either  the  reality 
or  the  legitimacy  of  a  thought,  that  it  is  not  of  a  kind 
to  be  brought  before  ''  the  mind's  eye."  We  believe, 
though  we  cannot  conceive,  the  infinitude  of  space  and 
time  :  and  these  beliefs  take  their  place  and  perform 
their  proper  intellectual  function  in  ])r()cesscs  of  rigor- 
ous scientific  reasoning ;  not  only  without  vitiating  the 
result,  but  with  indispensable  aid  to  its  true  evolution. 
If  this  is  not  a  ^'  t/iinkin(/^'  the  infinite,  —  this  letting 


r.ELiGious  THOUGHT.  239 

it  into  a  procedure  of  tlioui;lit  with  o^icrative  power  ou 
the  final  product,  —  we  know  not  what  thinking  is. 

We  confess  a  total  insensibility  to  most  of  the  alarni- 
ing  per])lexities  which  our  author  endeavors  to  fix  on 
the  Idea  of  tlic  Infinite.  They  ail  arise  out  of  tiie 
spurious  Spinozistic  demand,  that  tiiis  idea  shall  be 
kept  out  of  relation  to  any  thing,  and  the  false  assump- 
tion that,  unless  this  is  done,  the  idea  is  sacrificed. 
Kxcept  in  personal  argument  with  oi)ponents  making 
tliis  demand,  tiiere  is  no  reason  for  giving  way  to  it. 
Xo  religious  truth  or  moral  interest  requires  us  to 
identify  God  with  any  infinitude  but  that  wliich  stands 
In  ontological  relation  to  the  finite.  When  we  are 
asked  wliether,  in  creating  the  world,  God  increased 
the  quantity  of  being,  and  are  reminded  that,  if  He  did, 
infinitude  received  addition,  and  If  He  did  not,  the  finite 
world  is  nothing  at  all, —  the  consequences  do  not  in 
either  case  distress  us  as  might  be  ex[)ected  :  an  Infini- 
tude that  supj)hes  its  own  comj)letion  was  potentially 
w  ithout  defect  ;  and  a  world  that  manifests  an  Infini- 
tude otJier  than  its  own  atones  i'ov  Its  nonentity.  As 
well  might  you  ask  whether  tiie  sun,  ou  first  ap[)earing, 
added  any  thing  to  the  extension  of  the  universe;  be- 
cause, if  he  did,  it  was  not  infinite  before  ;  If  he  did 
not,  he  could  have  no  size.  These  j)uzzles  (which,  be 
it  remembered,  remain  alter  Kevelatiou  precisely  what 
they  were  before)  arise  in  great  measure  from  tlie 
application  of  quantitative  Ideas  to  qualitati\e  exist- 
ciK-e,  and  the  attempt  to  solve  all  pru!)Iems  (if  genesis 
and  change  by  the  formulas  of  addition  and  suiitr.i:-- 
tion.  In  order  to  be  added  together  or  to  limit  one 
another,    oI:jects   must   be   honiogencous  and   must    be 


240  m.vnsel's  lbiits  op 

magnitudes;  and  to  speak  of  "quantity  of  hchuj^''  in 
the  abstract,  or  to  discuss  such  a  combination  as  God 
+  World,  appears  to  us  not  les.s  uiuneaning  than  to 
ask  about  the  temperature  of  (hn-ation,  or  to  debate 
whether  sleep  +  dream  is  larger  than  sleep  alone.  In 
forgetfulncss  of  this  principle,  our  author  pronounces 
the  co-existence  of  the  Divine  attributes  inconceivable 
without  contradiction,  because  involving  a  plurality  of 
infinitudes,  side  by  side.  If  tiie  attributes  were  not 
each  snl  generis,  and  if  they  wanted  room,  the  remark 
would  be  true.  ]5ut  if,  according  to  Si)inoza's  rule, 
"  thinking  is  not  bomided  by  body,  or  body  by  think- 
ing," there  is  no  need  for  heterogeneous  attributes  to 
become  finite  in  order  to  co-exist. 

These  things  being  borne  in  mind,  it  is  truly  aston- 
ishing to  find  Dr.  Mansel  treating  as  perfectly  parallel 
mysteries  the  co-existence  of  Attributes  in  the  Divine 
substance,  and  the  co-existence  of  Persons  in  the  Di- 
vine Unity.  For  the  cases  differ  precisely  in  that  whicth 
turns  the  scale  from  possibility  to  impossibility.  No 
two  attributes  of  the  same  substance  are  alike ;  there 
is  no  tangential  relation  between  them  ;  therefore  no 
mutual  interference.  But  with  personalities  it  is 
otherwise;  as  so  many  distinct  subjects  they  are  gener- 
ically  the  same,  with  diflferences  only  attributive  ;  and 
m"e  therefin*e  mutually  exclusive  and  limit  each  other. 
It  is  only  by  attenuating  the  conception  of  pcrsonaiitv 
till  it  jnelts  away  into  that  of  attribute  or  function,  that 
this  doctrine  becomes  at  all  presentable  in  thoniiht  ; 
and  so,  to  the  very  relation  which  our  author  adduces 
as  the  counterpart  of  its  contradiction,  we  habitually 
resort  to   relie\e  it   of  its  mysteiy.     In  like  manner, 


UELIGIOUS    THOUGHT.  241 

Dr.  Mnnscl's  remark  that  the  doctrine  of  the  God-^Ian 
id  neitlier  more  nor  less  perplexing  than  any  other 
co-exiytence  of  u  finite  object  with  the  infinite  overlooks 
the  veal  seat  of  the  difficulty,  which  lies  not  in  the 
relation  of  magnitude  between  the  two  natures  predi- 
cated, but  in  the  fact  that  both  of  them  are  Personal 
essences,  —  the  second  Person  in  the  Godhead  and  the 
"  perfect  man "  Jesus,  —  and  therefore,  by  the  rule 
of  mutual  exclusion  in  such  cases,  incapable  of  union 
in  the  same  subject.  It  is  a  bold  paradox  to  assert 
that  the  tormenting  and  intricate  subtleties  of  the  Eu- 
tychian  and  Monophysite  controversies  concerned  a  mat- 
ter no  harder  to  understand  than  the  co-existence  of 
the  finite  Moon  with  the  infinite  Space. 

On  the  whole,  tlien,  we  cannot  follow  Dr.  INIansel 
in  his  scepticism  respecting  the  natural  sj)rings  of  reli- 
gion in  the  human  mind;  and  if  we  could,  we  should 
feel  that  the  possibility  of  revelation  was  gone  too. 
A\  e  have  entire  faith  in  the  veracity,  and  in  the  consist- 
ency, of  the  reports  given  in  by  our  highest  faculties ; 
and  think  it  possible,  even  within  our  segment  of  a 
life,  to  trace  their  convergence  towards  one  Divine  and 
Holy  Reality.  The  causal  instinct  of  the  intellect,  the 
solemn  suspicions  of  the  conscience,  the  ideal  passion 
of  the  imagination,  the  dependent  self-renunciation  of 
the  affections,  are  all,  we  believe,  so  many  lines  of  at- 
traction to  the  same  Infinite  Object.  And  however 
numerous  the  aspects  under  which  that  transcendent 
Being  may  present  Himself  to  the  different  sides  of  our 
nature,  we  see  no  reason  to  doubt  their  consonance,  or 
to  despair  of  the  noble  and  pious  attemi)t  to  exhil)it 
them  in   harmony.     Nor  do  we   think  it  should   be  a 

IG 


242  hansel's   LIlMITri    OF 

congpnml  task,  for  a  divine  Acr.^cd  in  pliilojsophy,  to 
enlist  his  skill  in  the  defeat  of"  this  attempt,  —  in  wid- 
ening the  discrepancies,  rediicinjr  the  approximations, 
and  making  the  most  of"  the  f'aihncs  of"  the  religious 
reason.  We  have  no  tenderness  towards  the  meta- 
])hysical  pantheism,  —  f"rom  Spinoza  to  Hegel,  —  which 
Dr.  Manscl  criticises  in  his  <>arlier  lectures,  liut  we 
t^hould  give  it  U|)  to  him  with  more  satisfiiction,  did  ho 
not,  in  his  doctrine  of"  the  Infinite,  ap[)ropriate  its  chief 
feature,  and  so,  in  the  very  act  of  putting  it  to  death, 
transfer  to  himself  its  most  fatal  wea[)()n.  The  effect 
of  his  essential  sympathy  with  these  systems  in  their 
conception  of  the  problem  to  he  })roposed,  shows  itself 
especially  when  he  ceases  to  contend  with  them,  and 
addresses  himself  to  the  moral  difficulties  of  fiith,  the 
doctrine  of  foi'giveness,  the  grounds  of  prayer,  the  jjos- 
sibility  of  chai-aeter  in  God.  Ilis  treatment  of  these 
great  sul^jeets  makes  us  forget  the  philoso|)lier  and 
recognize  the  di\  ine  :  inventing  imaginary  dilHculries, 
and  removing  them  by  fictitious  solutions ;  implying 
sligliter  acquaintance  than  in  the  jirevious  discussions 
with  the  literature  of  the  su!)jec't ;  and  missing,  as  it 
seems  to  us,  the  essential  bases  of  ethical  theory. 

Tiie  general  spirit  of  this  book  is  s(;holarly  and  lib- 
eral;  and  probably  the  deviations  from  this  tone  are 
involuntary  and  intellectual  merely.  But  there  are 
exani[)les  of  controversial  unfairness,  which,  though 
sanctioned  by  usage,  we  deeply  lament  to  see.  In 
notes  giving  some  account  of  the  works  of  Strauss  and 
of  Baur,  Dr.  Mansel  thinks  it  allowable  to  bring  to- 
gether, as  an  anthology  of  absurdities,  all  the  extreme 
results   and    most   amazing    hints   which   the   lleiiclian 


r.ELiGiors  THOUGHT.  243 

dialectic  of  these  writers  supplies,  without  noticing;  the 
fact  that  their  i)hilos()phy  is  an  insl^inificaiit  accident, 
wliich,  if  entirely  removed  or  rephued  \>y  a  different, 
scheme,  would  leave  the  mass  of  their  historical  criti- 
cism unaffected.  The  consequence  is,  that  these  notes 
j)rescnt  a  gross  caricature,  and  leave  an  impression 
utterly  false  of  two  writers,  both  of  whom,  in  spite  of 
great  aberrations  of  ingenuity,  have  produced  an  inef- 
faceable Impression  on  Christian  theolouy  ;  and  one  has 
furnished  contributions  of  extraordinary  value  to  the 
solution  of  the  grandest  of  historical  problems.  How 
decidedly  we  are  opposed  to  their  main  theories,  our  ha- 
bitual readers  well  know  ;  and  from  tlieir  philos()i)hy  we 
stand  at  a  greater  distance  probably  than  Dr.  Mansel. 
But  no  orthodoxy  can  consecrate  the  spirit  of  polemic 
detraction,  or  excuse  a  scholar  from  recognizing  schol- 
arship and  a  Christian  from  oI)servi!)g  justice.  A 
writer,  however,  who  thinks  (p.  247)  that  Christianity 
is  all  lost,  if  once  you  admit  the  slightest  human  ele- 
ment in  the  teaching  of  Christ,  belongs  to  a  stage  of 
theological  opinion  at  which  genial  admiration  and 
judicial  estimates  of  modern  critical  learning  are  hardly 
possible.  Few  things,  indeed,  are  more  striking  in  this 
volume  than  the  contrast  between  the  acuteness  and 
refinement  of  its  metaphysics,  and  the  purely  popular 
and  elementary  character  of  it.s  biblical  Ideas. 


244 


CEREBRAL   PSYCHOLOGY:    BAIN* 


It  is  rare  to  find  an  Englishman,  not  a  graduate  in 
Arts,  who  believes  in  the  existence,  —  or  even  the 
])ossibilitv,  —  of  what  are  called  the  "  Mental  and 
Moral  Sciences."  The  averajje  national  intelliyence 
looks  on  them  as  the  showy  shams  of  Academic  dis- 
cipline, and  is  as  suspicious  of  their  solidity  as  of  Mr. 
Gladstone's.  The  Scotchman,  on  the  other  hand,  — 
by  ordination  of  nature  and  University  chaiter,  — 
takes  kindly  to  these  studies  :  discusses  their  problems 
everywhere,  at  church,  on  the  platform,  even  iti  the 
public-house ;  and,  migrating  South  of  the  Tweed,  re- 
introduces them,  from  time  to  time,  into  our  literature 
and  life.  In  their  pure  form,  however,  he  would  hai'dly 
succeed  in  gaining  our  ear  for  them.  But,  himself 
catching  the  infection  of  our  scepticism,  he  adapts  them 
to  the  level  of  our  belief,  surrenders  their  distinctive 
characteristics,  assimilates  them  to  physical  knowJe(i^e, 
and  reduces  them  from  their  autonomy  to  a  mere  [)rov- 
ince  of  the  "Natural  Sciences  :  "  and  then,  for  the  first 
time,  when  he  has  construed  all  that  is  "  mental "  in  the 

*  The  Senses  and  the  Intellect.  By  Alexander  Bain,  A.M.  London, 
1855. 

The  Kmotions  and  the  Will.  By  Alexander  Bain,  A.  M.,  Examiner  in 
Logic  and  Moral  IMiilosophy  in  the  University  of  London.     London,  IfcJO. 

National  IJeview,  April,  1800. 


CEREBIIAL    rSYCIIOLOGY  :    R AIX.  245 

plicnorncnn  into  physioloiry,  and  all  that  is  "moral" 
into  ihc  ehcuiistry  of  ideas,  we  begin  to  suspect  his 
doctrine  of"  something  better  than  metaphvsic  moon- 
shine. Both  the  elder  Mill  and  Mr.  Bain  owe  their 
Kngli.>jh  laurels  to  the  remarkable  skill  with  which  thev 
have  negotiated  away  the  claims  of  the  native  Scottish 
philosophy,  and  saved  or  sacrificed  their  science  by 
putling  it  under  protection  of  a  stronger  power.  In 
saying  this,  v.c  refer,  not  so  much  to  their  doctrines  as  to 
their  method  ;  and  especially  to  the  preconception  from 
wliich  they  set  out,  as  to  the  nature  of  their  study  and 
its  relative  place  in  the  scheme  of  human  knowledge. 

AVhat  is  "Psychology"?  Nobody  wouhl  think  of 
putting  it  among  the  Physical  Sciences,  or  would  hesi- 
tate to  admit  that  it  stands,  in  some  sense,  at  the  remot- 
est point  from  them.  Nor  would  tlie  most  enthusiastic 
disciple  of  Faraday  or  Li('I)ig  pretend  that  it  dealt  with 
phen(Mnena  reducible  to  Chemical  Law  ;  though  ])er- 
haps  he  might  claim  a  less  distant  rclations!ii[)  to  them 
than  that  of  the  mere  Natural  Philosopher,  and  might 
even  reserve,  on  behalf  of  his  favorite  pursuit,  some 
contingent  revei'sionary  right  of  interest  in  tiiem.  To 
judge  from  the  habitual  language  of  medical  litera.- 
tiire,  the  l'*hysiologist  considers  himself  to  be  treading 
close  upon  the  heels  of  the  Menta.l  Philosojjhcr,  and  to 
be  heir-presumi)tive,  if  not  already  rival  claimant,  tc 
the  whole  domain.  I'etweeu  the  ficts  of  life,  as 
manifested  thi-ough  the  lower  grades  of  organized  ex- 
istence, and  the  facts  of  mind,  s[)ccial  to  our  ra<'(\  Ik" 
recognizes  no  ultuuate  distinction,  and  confidently  look-i 
for  evidence  of  essential  identity.  And  whatever  bo 
the  destination  of  Jntellectual  Philosophy,  draws  with 


246  CEREBR^U,   PSYCHOLOGY  :    BAIX. 

it  that  of  Etliics  and  Religion  :  for,  once  within  the 
enclosure  of  the  distinctive  human  faculties,  it  is  iuipos- 
sible  for  the  inquirer  to  insulate  the  Reason,  whilst 
relegating-  Conscience  and  Faith  to  quite  another  field. 
In  this  view,  therefore,  the  study  of  humanity  consti- 
tutes only  the  uppermost  stratum  of  scientific  Natural 
History :  it  deals  with  certain  residuary  phenomena 
left  on  hand  when  the  lower  organisms  have  been 
exhausted :  and  its  separation  is  no  less  provisional 
and  artificial  than  that  of  any  one  branch  of  zoology 
from  any  other.  It  is  thus  the  crown  and  suuunit 
of  the  hierarchy  of  Natural  Sciences  ;  emerging  from 
physiology,  as  physiology  fiom  chemistry,  and  chem- 
istry from  physics ;  and  differing  only,  as  each  superior 
term  differs  from  the  subjacent,  in  the  greater  com- 
plexity and  more  restricted  range  of  the  attriliutes  it 
contemplates.  Psychological  studies,  prosecuted  with 
this  preconception  of  their  position,  will  naturally  bor- 
row, as  far  as  possible,  the  resoiu-ces  of  the  nearest 
science,  will  seek  explanation  of  human  facts  in  the 
simpler  animal  analogies  ;  and  in  proportion  as  these 
fail,  will  feel  baffled,  and  anxious  to  reduce  the  variance 
to  the  lowest  point.  To  bring  the  higher  phenomena 
under  the  rule,  or  close  to  the  confines  of  tlie  lower ; 
to  exhibit  them  as  woven  in  the  same  loom,  only  of 
finer  web  and  more  complicated  pattern,  —  will  be  the 
instinctive  aim  of  researches  begun  from  this  side.  Nor 
will  the  aim  be  wholly  unsuccessful  in  regard  to  the 
border  phenomena,  —  of  Sense,  Propension,  and  Habit, 
—  which  retain  us  in  affinity  with  other  living  kinds. 
If  it  incurs  the  risk  of  failure  and  harm,  it  will  be  at 
the  upper  end,  among  the  extreme  human  character- 


CEREBRAL  rSYCHOLOGY  :  BAIX.        247 

istics  :  where,  to  say  the  least,  it  is  strongly  tempted 
to  repeat  upon  psychology  the  same  violence  of  which 
Comte  complains  as  committed  by  the  physicist  on 
chemistry,  and  the  chemist  on  physiology,  —  a  coercivr 
assimilation  of  ulterior  to  prior  laws. 

There  is  certainly  a  captivating  simplicity  in  this 
pyramidal  arrangement  of  all  our  possible  knowledge 
around  a  single  axis  ;  with  the  base  broadly  laid  in  the 
universal  properties  of  matter,  and  the  apex  rising  to 
the  solitary  loftiness  of  Man  and  even  crowned  with  his 
highest  symbol,  —  the  cross.  It  seems  to  promise  that, 
by  merely  repeating  our  steps  and  not  growing  dizzy,  we 
shall  surmount  all  our  ignorance,  and  find  Thought  and 
Love,  as  well  as  Force  and  Matter,  beneath  our  feet. 
At  tiie  same  time,  it  seems  to  warn  us,  that  the  special 
endowments  of  our  own  being  are  utterly  inaccessible 
to  our  apprehension,  till  we  have  ascended  through  tier 
after  tier  of  previous  sciences.  The  promise  and  the 
warning,  if  reHable,  are  of  superlative  importance.  Is 
it  true,  then,  that,  simply  and  only  by  ascending  the 
stair  of  natural  knowledge,  —  by  persistent  prolonga- 
tion of  its  familiar  processes, — ^  we  reach  the  stage  of 
jVIental  and  Moral  Science?  Is  that  stage  really  to  be 
found  along  the  same  line  of  method,  only  ranged 
around  its  furthest  segment?  AVe  utterly  disbelieve  it : 
and  venture  to  affirm  that  no  refinement  of  growth  in 
the  other  sciences  has  any  tendency  to  blossom  into 
knowledge  of  the  Mind ;  and  that  such  knowledge, 
instead  of  being  doomed  to  wait  till  the  alleged  prior 
terms  in  the  scries  have  been  built  u{),  begins  with 
tlicm  at  the  beginning,  [)roceeds  with  them  pari  pas- 
su, and  can  no  more  be  put   before  or  after  them  than 


248  CEREBRAL    PSYCHOLOGY  :    BAIX. 

the  image  in  the  mirror   before  or  jifter  the  object  it 
reflects. 

The  jjntund  of  these  assertions  is  simply  this  :  — 
Mental  Science  is  Self-knowledge :  Natnral  Science, 
the  knowlcd":e  of  something  other  than  Self.  Their 
spheres  are  of  necessity  mutually  exclusive ;  yet  so 
related  that,  like  all  true  opposites,  they  come  into 
existence  together.  Wakened  up  by  some  phenomenon 
from  the  sleep  of  unconsciousness,  we  discover  two 
things  at  once,  viz.  ourselves  as  recipient  and  the  phe- 
nomenon as  given  :  we  are  in  possession  of  an  external 
fact  and  an  internal  feeling ;  and  have  already  had  our 
first  lesson  in  both  physical  and  mental  knowledge. 
Every  event,  in  like  manner,  has  its  outer  and  its  inner 
face,  and  is  apprehended  by  us  as  existing  and  as  felt ; 
contribjiting  an  element,  in  the  one  aspect,  to  our 
fi:niliarity  ■with  nature,  in  the  otlier,  to  our  acquaint- 
ance with  our  own  mind.  The  same  relative  fact 
which,  m  the  external  space,  is  called  Light,  when 
brought  home  to  us,  is  called  Vision  :  and  wliiLst  Optics 
take  charge  of  it  in  the  former  case,  it  belongs  to  Psy- 
chology in  the  latter.  Not  a  single  predicate  attaching 
to  it  is  common  to  both  sides  of  the  relation  :  on  the 
one,  it  is  cause,  —  it  is  in  space,  —  it  has  dimension 
and  local  movement :  on  the  other,  it  is  effect,  —  it  is 
in  time,  —  it  is  a  feeling,  cxcmj)t  from  the  laws  of 
size  and  measurement.  This  divarication  of  the  phe- 
nomenon into  two  opj)osite  directions  is  inherent  in  the 
cognitive  act  itself,  and  goes  wherever  it  goes,  constant 
as  focus  to  focus  in  the  ellipse  :  and  this  it  is  which  con- 
stitutes the  indestructible  antithesis  between  physical 
ind  mental  science,  making  them  twins  in  their  birth 


CEREBRAL    rSYClIOLOGY  :    BATX.  249 

but  without  contact  in  their  career.  In  the  play  of 
life,  —  the  action  and  re-action,  —  between  ourselves 
and  the  surrounding  scene,  attention  may  pass  out- 
ward, and  forgetting  itself,  may  look  at  this  or  that; 
or  may  turn  inward,  and  forgetting  the  world,  may 
count  the  beads  of  thought  and  note  the  ilush  of  feel- 
ing :  and  the  results,  of  natural  knowledge  in  the  first 
instance  and  psychologic  in  the  second,  are  absolutely 
parallel  and  co-ordinate,  and  can  never  be  transjjoscd 
into  linear  subordination.  Self-consciousness  has  one 
realm  to  construe ;  Perceptive  observation,  another. 
Could  we  always  forget  ourselves,  and  use  our  faculty 
upon  objects  without  knowing  it,  we  should  still  be 
competent  to  the  "  intei-])retation  of  nature  :  "  could  we 
always  forget  the  world,  and  scan  the  inner  history 
alone,  we  should  still  be  competent  to  register  the  laws 
of  thought.  The  necessary  duality  of  all  intellectual 
action  happily  excludes  this  extreme,  and  [)reserves 
some  approximate  equipoise  between  the  two  momenta 
of  our  knowledge  :  but  it  is  none  the  less  true  that  they 
are  perfectly  distinct,  however  concurrent ;  that  inter- 
change between  them  is  impossible  ;  that,  though  they 
hang  and  bahuice  fiom  the  same  beam,  the  weights 
which  are  heaviest  in  the  one  have  no  etiect  upon  tlie 
other;  and  that  tiie  atteui})t  to  treat  them  as  homogene- 
ous can  but  upset  and  confound  tlie  conditions  of  human 
intelligence.  Wiiat  is  shown  to  us  by  the  outer  day- 
light of  objective  discovery  must  always  be  other  f]i;;n 
that  which  we  see  by  the  inner  light  of  selt-kuowledge  : 
and  could  the  i-ays  of  either  fall  upon  the  other's  field, 
there  is  nothing  there  which  they  could  fetch  out  of 
darkness. 


250       CEREBRAL  rSYCHOLOGY  :  BAIX. 

We  submit  therefore  that  a  dualistic  grouping  of 
the  Sciences,  in  place  of  a  monistic,  is  prescribed 
by  the  fundamental  conditions  of  Intelligence  itself; 
that  without  a  firm  and  absolute  reliance  on  the  pos- 
tulates and  resources  of  objective  experience.  Natural 
knowledge  can  make  no  way ;  that  without  equally 
firm  and  absolute  reliance  on  the  postulates  and  re- 
sources of  self-consciousness,  Mental  and  Moral  phi- 
losophy must  remain  impossible  ;  and  that  whilst  neither 
can  question,  not  either  may  borrow,  the  language  and 
methods  of  the  other.  So  long  as  we  look  at  the 
extreme  cases  of  contrast  in  the  two  series,  — Astron- 
omy, for  instance,  and  Psychology,  —  this  statement 
will  perhaps  challenge  little  objection  :  star-gazing  tak- 
ing us  out  pretty  far,  and  thought-analyzing  keeping  us 
pretty  close  at  home.  There  are  however  several  inter- 
mediate departments  of  knowledge  which  seem  to  give 
us  insight  into  the  workings  of  the  human  mind,  not  by 
introspection,  but  distinctly  by  the  study  of  external 
data.  Jurisprudence  and  Politics,  History,  Philology, 
and  Art,  all  engage  themselves  upon  visible  and  tangi- 
ble products  of  the  past,  and  have  no  less  objective  a 
look  than  Botany  and  Geology  themselves  ;  yet  all  issue 
in  deeper  acquaintance  with  humanity  :  they  appear  to 
be  physical  in  their  procedure,  and  moral  in  their  result. 
Nevertheless,  they  do  not  disturb,  they  even  confirm, 
the  principle  of  our  dual  arrangement.*  AVhat  are  the 
"external  phenomena"  with  which  they  deal?  Laws 
and  States, —  the  embodiment  of  the  social  Conscience  ; 
Language,  —  the  crystallization  of  human  Thought; 
Poetry,  Painting,  and  Sculpture,  —  the  witnesses  of 
human  Ideality  ;  Action  and  Suffering,  —  the  outcome 


CEREBRAL    PSYCHOX,OGY  :    BMN.  251 

of  hnm«in  Life  and  Passion.  For  tiic  purpose  of  oni 
present  argument,  it  is  an  abuse  of  terms  to  call  these 
"external"  facts.  They  are  so,  in  the  sense  in  which 
tears  arc  drops  of  water,  or  a  ship's  colors  a  few  yard* 
of  cotton  rag  :  but  their  whole  essence  lies  in  the  inter- 
nal meaning  of  which  they  are  the  record  and  the  sign, 
in  the  invisible  and  spiritual  facts  of  which  tiiey  compel 
the  very  elements  to  take  charge.  And  all  such  simply 
expressive  phenomena  speak  to  us  only  to  the  extent 
of  our  symi)athy,  and  through  the  medium  of  our  self- 
consciousness  :  did  they  not  hold  up  the  mirror  to  our 
inner  life,  and  enable  us  better  to  read  ourselves  in  their 
reflex  image,  they  vn'ouUI  tell  u->  nothing,  and  would  drop 
from  the  catalogue  of  human  studies.  Here,  and  here 
alone,  does  the  maxim  hold,  tiiat  "like  only  can  know 
like,"  —  that  the  cognitive  process  requires  community 
of  nature  between  the  knower  and  the  known.  In 
physics,  it  is  rather  the  opposite  rule  that  prevails,  — 
of  contrariety  between  subject  and  object :  —  at  all 
events  I  need  not,  in  order  to  estimate  color,  have  my 
faculty  prismatically  painted  ;  or,  to  appreciate  acids, 
be  sour  myself;  or,  to  exa.nine  the  magnetic  laws,  be 
personally  liable  to  di[).  But,  if  I  am  to  know  human- 
ity, human  I  nuist  be  ;  and  all  its  memorials,  so  far  as 
they  are  not  dumb  to  me,  are  but  the  extension  of  my 
self-conscious  being.  In  this  distinction  we  have  the 
true  dividing-line  between  the  departments  of  Science 
and  Literature,  and  the  princi[)le  of  their  profound 
difference  of  operation  on  the  minds  exclusively  occu- 
pied with  either.  It  would  take  us  too  far  from  our 
j)roper  path  to  work  out  this  hint  at  ])resent :  it  is 
intended  only  adequately  to  carry  out  the  dual  arrange- 


252  CEREBUAL   PSYCHOLOOY  :    BAIN. 

incnt  of  our  intellectual  pursuits,  and  justify  the  appro- 
priation of  all  the  "litei-a;  huinanioros"  to  the  side  of 
self-knovvlcdjjfe. 

Mr.  Bain'.s  book  opens  with  an  account,  lucid,  exact, 
and  conijiendious,  of  the  nervous  system  in  man.  In 
its  proper  place,  beside  the  volumes  of  Bell,  of  Quuin, 
of  Sharpey,  of  Carpenter,  nothinj^  could  be  better  :  and 
in  a  practical  manual  for  students,  especialh'  when  they 
are  to  be  examined  by  the  Author  himself,  we  do  not 
question  the  utility  of  such  an  exposition.  It  is  a  ser- 
viceable key  to  much  that  would  else  be  obscure  in  the 
language  of  ])sychological  writers  :  and  just  as  a  mu- 
sician may  reasonably  feel  some  curiosity  res|)ecting 
acoustic  laws,  so  is  it  natural  that  an  interest  in 
mental  processes  should  extend  itself  to  their  organic 
antecedents.  But,  tried  by  any  strict  test  of  logical 
rigiit,  the  disquisition  is,  in  our  view,  altogether  foreign 
and  intrusive :  and  we  prefer  the  practice  of  the  older 
writers,  —  Reid,  Stewart,  and  Mill,  —  who  take  up  their 
subject  no  earlier  than  the  conscious  phenomena,  and 
leave  the  medullary  conditions  entirely  out  of  view.  It 
is  not  that  we  doubt  the  physi.)logic:d  importance  of  the 
modern  cerebral  researclies,  or  feci  any  thing  but  regret 
at  their  hitherto  scanty  achievements.  But  if  they  were 
ever  so  successfid,  —  if  we  could  get  to  look  at  all  that 
we  want,  —  if  we  could  turn  the  exterior  of  a  man's  body 
into  a  transparent  case,  and  comjiel  powerful  magnifiers 
to  lay  bare  to  us  all  that  haijpcns  in  his  nerves  and 
brain,  —  what  we  should  see  would  not  be  sensation, 
thought,  affection,  but  some  form  of  movement  or  otiier 
visible  change,  which  would  equally  show  itself  to  any 
being  with  observing  eyesight,  however  incapable  of  the 


CEREBRAL    PSYCHOLOGY  :    BAIN.  253 

correspondino:  inner  emotion.  Facts  tluis  legible  from 
51  position  foreign  to  the  human  consciousness  are  not 
mental  facts,  are  not  moral  facts,  and  have  no  place  in 
the  interior  of  a  science  which  ])rofesses  to  treat  of 
these,  and  reduce  them  to  their  laws.  All  that  could 
be  done  with  such  outwardly  perceived  phenomena, 
at  their  point  of  nearest  approach  to  the  pyschologist, 
is  to  note  down  their  order  of  succession,  in  parallelism 
with  the  corresponding  order  of  the  series  known  to 
self-consciousness.  Supposing  two  such  co-ordinated 
trains  to  be  established,  we  may  admit  that  the  physi- 
cal, if  the  better  ascertained  and  distincter  in  its  terms, 
might  hel[)  us,  like  the  clearer  colunui  of  a  bilingual 
inscription,  to  identify  or  discriminate  the  parts  of  the 
other.  But  it  cannot  be  pretended  that  our  acquaint- 
ance with  the  nervous  system  supplies  us  with  any  sec- 
ondary ratios  of  this  kind  by  which  the  primary  can  be 
construed  into  truer  order.  The  cerebral  ])lienomena 
are  in  an  innneasurably  darker  state  than  the  mental, 
and  are  even  indebted  to  these  for  every  hypothetic  clue 
by  which  the  fancy  of  physiologists  could  find  a  way 
through  their  relations.  The  grand  discovery  itself 
(still  not  undisputed)  of  separate  motory  and  sensory 
nerves  only  follows  at  a  vast  distance,  in  respect  of  cer- 
tainty and  perspicuity,  the  conscious  difference  between 
action  and  receptivity.  Dr.  Hartley's  theory  of  Vibra- 
tions was  not,  in  our  judgment,  a  more  questionable 
incumbrance  on  his  doctrine  of  Association,  tlum  Mr. 
Bain's  correcter  physiological  exposition  on  his  subse- 
quent intellectual  analyses.  While  it  throws  not  a  ray 
of  real  light  into  them,  it  tinctures  them  with  ii  lan- 
guage of  materialistic  descripti(ni,  at  once  unphilosophi- 


254  CEREBRAL   PSYCHOLOGY  :    BAIN. 

cal  and  repulsive.  When  we  are  told  of  ihe  "high 
charge  of  nervous  power"  needful  for  "susceptibility  to 
delicate  emotions,"  —  of  the  "  numerous  currents  of  the 
brain"  involved  in  "wandering  oi'  the  thoughts," — of 
the  "  full  development  of  a  wave  of  emotion  "  from  "  the 
cerebral  centres,"  —  of  the  "eminently  glanduhu'"  na- 
ture of  "the  tender  affections  ;  "  —  when  it  is  observed 
that  "Irascibility  may  draw  to  itself  a  large  share  of 
the  vital  sap;"  —  and  that  "the  tender  emotion  usurps 
largely  a  great  portion  of  manivind,  being  so  alimented 
by  the  natural  conformation  of  the  system  as  to  main- 
tain its  characteristic  wave  with  consideruble  j)ersist- 
ence,"  and  that  "  tliis  gives  great  ca[)acity  for  the 
affections,"  especially  with  "requisite  suj)|)ort"  from 
"  the  structure  of  the  glandular  organs  ;  "  *  —  we  lose 
all  sense  of  psychological  trutii,  and  no  more  know  our- 
selves again  than  if,  on  looking  in  the  glass,  we  were  to 
see  an  anatomical  figure  staring  at  us.  There  is  no 
more  occasion  for  such  phraseology,  than  for  an  artist 
to  paint  his  jNIadonna  with  the  skin  off.  It  is  recom- 
mended neither  by  scientific  precision,  nor  by  illusti'ative 
good  taste.  The  one  only  excellencje  of  psychological 
description  is  to  speak  truly  and  seaichingly  to  our  self- 
consciousness  :  and  of  vital  sap,  and  high  charges,  and 
powerful  currents,  and  diffusive  waves,  we  certainly  arc 
not  conscious  :  nor  do  we  know  of  any  writer  resorting 
to  this  style  of  exposition,  without  forfeiture  of  all  fine- 
ness and  sharpness  in  his  delineations  of  spiritual  facts, 
and  quite  degenerating  from  the  purity  of  Berkeley,  the 
neatness  of  Stewart,  the  severity  of  Kant,  the  trans- 
parency of  Jouffroy. 

*  The  Emotions  and  the  Will,  pp.  32,  1&3,  230,  94,  233,  232. 


CEIIEBILVL    rSYCHOLOGY  :    BAIN.  255 

A\'e  have  said  tlint  the  i)>!ych()looicnl  difference  be- 
tween active  power  and  the  passive  susceptibilities  of 
Sense  was  familiar  to  mental  philosophers,  and  was 
treated  as  fundamental,  long  before  the  physiological 
separation  of  inotory  from  sensory  nerves.  Of  the  vast 
majority  of  Avriters  the  remark  is  so  true,  that  this  dis- 
tinction is  seldom  absent  from  the  leading  divisions  and 
even  titles  of  their  works.  But  there  is  one  important 
class  of  exceptions.  The  Sensational  psychologists 
have  steadily  resisted  the  claims  of  this  distinction  ;  have 
denied  its  ultimate  reality,  and  by  varit)us  ingenuities 
resolved  it  away  ;  have  contended  that  activity  means 
only  muscular  movement,  and  that  this  is  both  set 
a-going  and  made  known  exclusively  by  sensation. 
From  this  sole  source,  followed  by  the  clinging  to- 
gether of  connected  movements  and  the  vestiges  of 
contiguous  sensations,  they  have  explained  all  the  phe- 
nomena of  human  nature.  Of  all  the  difficulties  of 
this  undertaking,  no  one  has  been  more  pressed  upon 
them,  and  more  in  vain,  than  that  of  extracting  from  a 
primitive  [)assivity  the  various  forms  of  energy  and  strug- 
gle. At  last  however  the  conviction,  which  has  so  Ion": 
stood  out  against  psychological  a[)peal,  is  yielded  to 
phvsioloiiv  :  and  Sir  Charles  Bell  havino-  detached  the 
nerves,  Mr.  Bain  separates  the  functions,  of  action  and 
sensation.  lie  admits  as  original,  along  with  the  sus- 
ceptibilities of  sense,  a  spontaneity  of  movement,  —  a 
start  into  energy  without  any  prefix  of  feeling  :  and  this 
is  the  capital  new  feature,  —  certainly  a  marked  im- 
provement,—  which  he  has  added  to  the  resources  of 
his  school.  In  order  to  turn  this  spontaneity,  —  (piite 
random  ut  first,  —  into  volition,  he  assumes  an  inherent 


256  CEREBRAL    PSYCHOLOGY  :    BALV. 

tendency  to  persistence  in  every  musciilnr  adjustment 
which  procures  a  pleasure  or  relieves  a  pain  :  in  virtue 
of  which  this  class  of  movements,  once  hit  upon,  dis- 
engage themselves  from  the  heterogeneous  mass  of  pos- 
sible combinations,  and  fall  into  the  track,  and  come 
under  the  command,  of  regulated  associations.  This 
mode  of  deriving  the  voluntary  from  the  involuntary 
phenomena  is  essentially  the  same  with  that  of  Hartley 
and  James  Mill :  and,  though  carried  out  with  much 
fuller  elaboration,  and  addressing  itself  more  carefully 
to  the  grand  nodus  of  the  problem,  —  the  process  of 
deliberate  preference  and  decision,  —  will  probal)ly  con- 
vei't  no  one  who  has  been  left  unsatisfied  by  the  previous 
expositors.  The  real  novelty  lies  higher  up  :  in  freeing 
the  first  involuntary  movements  from  their  dependence 
on  any  sort  of  feeling,  and  so  creating  a  fund  of  spon- 
taneity to  set  off  against  the  stores  of  sensation,  and 
make  acquaintance  with  them. 

This  doubling  of  the  established  data  of  his  school, 
by  the  introduction  of  a  term  distinctly  antithetic  to 
sensation,  seemed  to  us  at  first  to  offer  the  means  of 
reconciliation  with  the  opposite  philosophy.  Nothing 
could  look  more  like  a  surrender  of  the  monistic  for 
a  diialistic  prin('i|)le.  But,  we  regret  to  say,  the  prom- 
ise is  for  the  present  illusory.  The  reason  is  this. 
Though  Mr.  Bain  grants  us  a  spontaneity,  he  plants  it 
where  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,  any  more  than  if 
our  limbs  were  spasmodically  stirred  by  a  galvanic 
touch.  In  his  zeal  to  cancel  Hartley's  prefix  of  a  sen- 
sational stimulus,  he  forgets  to  leave  any  attendant  con- 
sciousness at  the  fountain-head  at  all,  and  makes  the 
movement  covaa^  psychologically ,  out  of  nothing.    The 


CEKEBRAL    TSYCHOLOGY  :    BAIN.  257 

6rst  tiling-  we  feel  is  the  series  of  nuisoular  sensation? 
in  the  execution  of  the  act :  there  it  is,  accordingly, 
that  our  conscious  life  begins,  and  the  prior  word  of 
command  for  the  initiation  of  the  act  took  ])lace  out- 
side. The  dynamics  of  the  case  are  thus  quite  numb 
and  foreign  to  us  :  and  our  ex[)erience  still  dates  from 
the  earliest  sensation,  and  includes  no  counter  element. 
So  far  as  our  mental  history  is  concerned,  this  novclry 
of  Mr.  Bain's  is  therefore  inoperative,  and  lapses  back 
into  that  mere  emi)hasizin":  of  the  muscular  feelinirs  so 
familiar  to  the  readers  of  Dr.  Thomas  Brown.  Could 
he  only  have  burst  through  the  enchantments  of  this 
paralyzing-  sensational  circle,  we  believe  him  to  have 
been  on  the  eve  of  an  important  advance.  By  simply 
drawing  his  "spontaneity  "  and  its  force  within  the  lim- 
its of  consciousness,  instead  of  leaving  it  beyond  the 
threshold,  solutions  arise  of  problems  otherwise  unman- 
ageable. On  one  of  these  we  will  dwell  for  a  few 
moments,  —  the  origin  of  the  beliefs  respecting  Exter- 
nality and  Space. 

It  is  admitted  on  all  hands,  —  or,  at  least,  we  shall 
freely  concede  it  to  oin-  author's  philosophy,  —  that  if, 
like  Condillac's  sentient  statue,  we  simi)ly  stood  still 
and  felt  this  and  that  sensation  of  smell,  taste,  or 
sound,  we  should  have  no  knowledge  of  an  outward 
world.  The  conditions  of  this  belief  first  enter  in 
connection  with  the  muscular  system  ;  in  the  exercise 
of  which  we  gain  oiu*  apprehensions  of  objects  distinct 
fi'om  ourselves,  of  their  dimensions,  forms,  positions, 
and  of  the  circumambient  field  in  which  they  lie.  So 
far  we  are  agreed.  But  now  comes  the  (piestion,  how 
are  the  muscles  qualified  to  give  us  this  special  instrur- 

17 


258  CEREBRAL   PSYCHOLOGY  :    BAIN'. 

tion ?  and  by  what  process  do  tliey  impart  it?  Bro\^-n, 
Mill,  Bain,  all  concur  in  tlieir  answer.  First,  we  jrain 
the  idea  of"  linear  extension  bv  muscular  f'eclini!js  of 
various  ranijc,  as  in  the  slight  or  greater  closing  of  the 
fingers,  or  sweep  of  the  arm,  or  exploring  a  wire  :  part 
of  a  given  scries  of  sensations  not  being  the  same  to  us 
as  the  whole,  or  a  less  part  as  a  more  considerable,  wc 
have  differences  for  every  degree  of  continuance  ;  and 
these  are  so  many  lengths.  Next,  we  have  but  to  gi\o 
this  idea  nuu)erical  increase,  i.e.  conceive  of  co-exist- 
ing lengths,  whether  by  joint  action  of  a  plurality  of 
fingers,  or  bv  combining  the  movements  of  one  over  a 
euifacc,  as  of  a  pane  of  ghiss,  —  and  we  are  introduced 
to  superficial  extension.  And  lastly,  by  letting  our 
fancy  go  out  with  its  length-idea  on  all  radii  from  any 
point,  we  win  at  once  the  conception  of  Space;  or 
again,  by  embracing  a  solid  object  between  the  two 
hands,  we  discover  co-existing  surfaces  separated  by 
lengths,  and  complete  our  triad  of  dimensions.  Thus 
our  idea  of  I-Cxtension  is  built  up,  bit  by  bit,  one  dimen- 
sion at  a  time  ;  and  the  last  to  come,  in  the  order  of 
our  knowledjje,  is  geometrical  soliditv. 

Every  thing,  in  this  exposition,  depends  on  the 
soundness  of  the  first  step ;  the  others,  being  little 
else  than  contrivances  for  multiplying  lengths,  disap- 
pear of  themselves  if  the  lengths  are  yet  to  s(;ek. 
How,  then,  are  they  got?  JSIerely,  it  is  said,  by  our 
experiencing  in  the  muscles  a  train  of  sensations,  com- 
ing to  iin  end,  now  sooner,  now  later  ;  this  variation  in 
the  protraction  of  the  series  being  the  gist  of  the  whole 
matter,  and  giving  us  our  quoisitiun.  of  length.  If 
80,  however,  any  succession  of  feelings  susceptible  of 


CEREBRAL    PSYCHOLOGY  :    BAIX.  250 

similar  variation  would  do  as  well:  a  melody  heard, 
now  complete,  now  broken  off;  a  cycle  of"  odors,  at  one 
time  half  administered,  at  another  cut  short  near  the 
beginning,  would  meet  all  the  prescribed  conditions, 
and  ought  to  furnish  us  with  the  Knowledge  of  Exten- 
sion. The  liability  to  more  or  less  abbreviation  of  the 
^sensational  thread  is  no  peculiarity  of  the  muscular 
sense  :  and  to  pitch  upon  this  circumstance  as  giving  ns 
our  comparison  of  lengths  is  fatal  to  the  exclusive  claim 
which  is  set  up  for  this  class  of  feelings.  What  can  be 
more  inconsistent  than,  first,  to  single  out  the  locomo- 
tive organs  as  alone  competent  to  the  phenomenon,  and 
then  to  refer  the  phenon)enon  to  something  in  them 
which  is  no  speciality  of  theirs  at  all?  Do  you  fly  then 
to  the  distinctive  qualltij  of  their  feelings,  rather  than 
their  mere  interrupted  succession  ?  Different,  of  course, 
the  muscular  feelings  are  from  smells,  as  tastes  also  or 
sounds  are  from  botli ;  but  so  long  as  they  are  only 
sensations,  delivered  upon  our  consciousness  one  after 
another,  they  win  no  advantage,  for  jjurposes  of  objec- 
tive disclosure,  over  their  companions.  Even  could  we 
know  them  by  c\er  so  perfect  an  introspection,  they 
would  be  found  in  us,  not  out  of  us,  and  would  not  help 
us  to  step  beyond  the  subjective  world  :  their  succession 
would  be  in  duration,  not  in  space,  and  would  give  us 
the  sequent  parts  of  time,  nut  the  synchronous  parts  of 
linear  extension.  King  the  changes  as  you  will  upon 
mere  Sensation,  these  difficulties  will  shut  j'ou  in.  The 
o)dy  reason  why  the  passive  reception  of  odors  would  not 
reveal  the  outward  world  is,  that  it  does  not  go  beyond 
sensation  ;  and  so  long  as  you  stop  at  that  stage,  tlie  mus- 
cles will  serve  you  no  better  than  the  pituitary  membrane. 


2010  CEREBKAL    PSYCHOLOGY  :    BAIX. 

In  whiit,  then,  really  consbts  the  prerogative  distinc- 
tion of"  the  muscular  system?  It  has  an  obvious  and 
in)|)ortant  peculiarity.  In  our  experience  of  smell,  hear- 
inu',  &c.,  the  first  thing  that  haj)j)cns  is  the  .sensation, 
Avhich  arrives  at  us  out  of  the  unknown,  and  wakes  us 
ii|)  in  an  unexpected  way  ;  and  any  cognitive  act,  when 
we  arc  in  a  condition  to  iiave  one,  follows  on  the  sensi- 
tive ])henonienon.  But  the  muscular  sensations  occur 
in  executing  an  act  already  ordered  by  mandate  from 
ourselves ;  the  signal  for  them  is  passed  before  they 
arise,  and  this  mental  prefix,  name  it  as  you  will,  pre- 
vents our  being  taken  by  surprise  with  the  phenomenon, 
and  provides  an  incipient  cognitive  element  at  the  foim- 
tnin-head.  This  inverse  order  of  procedure  in  the  loco- 
motive faculty  redeems  it  altogether  from  the  category 
of  the  Senses.  It  starts  from  a  point  that  is  no  more 
"Sensation"  than  the  cognitions  in  which  the  proper 
Senses  terminate;  call  it  volition,  or  call  it  spontaneous 
energy,  it  is  the  putting  forth  of  personal  causation. 
This  is  a  function  beyond  the  province  of  mere  Sense. 
A  A^'ense  cannot  make  efforts,'  nor  are  its  phenomena 
causes,  but  effects.  Not  even,  we  believe,  are  sensa- 
tions an  essential  feature  in  the  executive  stage  of  the 
operation  ;  if  the  nmscles  were  made  of  india-rubber, 
or  |)aralyzed  in  their  sensory  nerves,  their  system,  we 
conceive,  would  not  be  disqualified,  provided  it  obeyed 
the  mandates  from  head-ijuarters,  for  giving  us  knowl- 
edge of  an  objective  world.  This  knowledge  breaks  on 
us  from  the  collision  of  our  own  conscious  force  with 
impeding  resistance  :  and  so  long  as  the  two  extremes 
retain  this  relation,  the  intermediary  members  may  be 
many  or  few,  sensible  or  insensible,  without  hindering 


CEKEBUAL    rSYGHOLOGV  :    E.VIX.  2G1 

our  discovery  of  the  antithetic  Subject  and  Object :  tho 
one  here,  tlie  other  there;  the  one  Causal  hence, 
the  other  Causal  hither.  By  removing  the  dynamical 
commencement  of  this  experience  out  of  consciousness, 
and  beginning  our  psychological  history  lower  down,  in 
the  sensations  of  tiie  executive  muscles,  Mr.  Bain  ap- 
pears to  us  to  have  missed  the  true  germ  of  our  ideas 
o'i  Personality,  of  Space,  and  of  Causation. 

No  doubt,  the  accurate  measurement  of  our  force 
against  variable  resistances,  and  of  the  several  intervals 
between  objects,  is  largely  dependent  on  the  proper 
muscular  sensations,  which  are  invaluable  as  a  scheme 
of  graduated  signs.  But  the  things  measured  and 
signified,  —  apart  from  the  appreciation  of  their  de- 
grees, —  are  cognizable  through  an  energy  behind  the 
muscles.  The  collision  of  that  energy  of  ours  with 
the  counter-energy  of  the  world,  as  attested  by  Sensa- 
tion, reveals  to  us,  by  the  crossing  lines  of  direction, 
the  contrast  of  the  Self  and  the  other-than-Self,  and 
gives  us,  as  Categories  for  all  phenomena,  the  two 
centres  of  Personality  and  Externality.  The  antithesis 
of  these  mutually  excluding  terms  carries  in  itself  both 
a  geometrical  opposition  of  Place,  and  a  dynamical 
opposition  of  Force.  Instead  of  our  having  to  go  to 
school  for  a  long  exj)erience,  in  order  to  be  trained 
into  these  ideas,  our  whole  experience  constitutes  itself 
around  these  apjjrehensions,  as  its  three  grand  axes  ; 
and  of  the  two  sides  of  each  pair,  neither  has  nuy 
advantage  over  the  other  :  the  outer  and  the  inner  both 
are  given  in  the  same  act,  and  known  by  the  same  self- 
light,  or  rather  reciprocal  light ;  and  there  is  no  more 
propriety  in  saying,  that  we  know  the  external  world 


2(52  CEKKBKAL    IVSrCIIOLOviV  :    li.VIX. 

only  throufjh  our  own  fccliiiiia,  tli;ui  in  snyiiig  tlmt  we 
know  our  own  f'celinsj;s  only  throuijh  the  external  world. 
To  know  at  all  involves  both  terins  :  and  the  attempt  to 
establish  a  subordination  between  thein,  and  resolve 
objective  cognition  into  subjective  consciousness  of  our 
own  phenomena,  is  nothing  else  than,  in  the  very  act 
of  patronizing  experience,  to  destroy  its  fundamental 
postulates,  and  open  the  way  to  every  idealistic  dream. 
The  following  passage  is  therefore,  in  our  view,  far 
from  satisfactory  : 

"  As  our  belief  in  the  externality  of  the  causes  c)f  our  sen- 
sations means,  that  certain  actions  of  ours  will  bring  the  sensa- 
tions into  play,  or  modify  tliem  in  a  known  manner,  this  belief 
is  easily  furnished  to  us  by  experience ;  it  is  no  more  than  our 
experience  entitles  us  to  entertain.  Having  felt,  again  and 
again,  that  a  tree  becomes  larger  to  the  eye  as  we  move; 
that  this  movement  brings  on  at  last  a  sensation  of  touch;  that 
this  sensation  of  touch  varies  with  movements  of  our  arm, 
and  a  great  many  other  similar  coincidences;  the  repetition 
of  all  this  experience  fixes  it  in  tha  mind,  and  from  the  sight 
alone  we  can  anticipate  all  th(;  rest.  AVe  tlieu  know  tliat  our 
movements  will  bring  about  all  the  changes  and  sensations 
above  described, and  we  know  no  more;  but  tliis  knowledge  is 
to  us  the  recognition  of  external  existence,  the  only  tiling,  so 
far  as  I  see,  that  external  existence  can  possibly  mean.  Be- 
lief in  external  reality  is  the  anticipation  of  a  given  effect  to  a 
given  antecedent ;  and  the  effects  and  causes  are  our  own 
various  sensations  and  movements."  {The  Senses  and  the 
Intellect,  p.  373.) 

According  to  this,  to  sec  the  sun  in  the  heavens  is  to 
believe  that,  if  we  could  only  keep  on  walking  long 
enough,  we  might  burn  our  fingers ;  to  descry  the  lark 
aloft,  is  to  recite  by  umscular  sympathy  the  beating  of 


CEREBRAL    PSYCHOLOGY  :    BAIN.  263 

its  wings  since  it  left  its  nest ;  to  think  of  any  distant 
space  is  to  run  over  our  locomotive  sensations  in  reach- 
ing it,  unci  the  opportunity  of  thrusting  out  our  arm 
when  we  liave  got  tlierc.  Emptiness  means  simply 
scope  for  muscular  exercise ;  and  the  Infinitude  of 
Space  imports  only  potential  gymnastics  for  us  under 
all  conceivable  circumstances.  This  kind  of  "  analy- 
sis "  of  our  ideas  seems  to  us,  we  nuist  confess,  a  cruel 
operation,  —  a  cold-blooded  dissecting  of  them  to 
death.  The  disjecta  tuembra  given  as  their  equiva- 
lents, and  strung  togetlicr  in  succession  to  rejdace  the 
original  wdiole,  defy  all  identification.  Look  down  an 
avenue  of  trees,  and  consider  whether,  in  aj)preciating 
its  perspective,  you  are  engaged  upon  the  mere  imagina- 
tion of  touches,  or  the  computation  of  fatigue?  Watch 
n  lighthouse  from  a  ship's  deck,  by  night,  laying  its  long 
line  of  beads  tt)wards  you  upon  the  waves,  and  say 
whether  the  thing  denoted  by  this  "  visual  sign "  has 
any  thing  to  do  with  either  your  legs  or  your  finger- 
ends.  Can  you  believe  that  even  to  a  blind  geometri- 
cian diagrams  and  areas  present  themselves,  not  as 
sinmltaneous  existences  beyond  his  personality,  but  as 
]»ossible  series  of  tactual  impressions  in  himself?  or, 
that  when  James  Mitchell,  the  blind  deaf-mute,  anuised 
himself  with  picking  stones  out  of  the  brook,  ranging 
them  in  a  circle  on  the  grass,  and  then  assuming  the 
centre  as  his  own  seat,  the  figure  of  his  environment 
did  not  lie  in  his  dark  imagination  complete  at  once? 
For  our  own  part,  we  utterly  distrust  this  whole  doc- 
trine, which  construes  back  the  grand  synchronous  unity 
of  Si)ace  into  trains  of  nniscular  successions  in  our 
Sense,  and  interprets  the  objective  world  into   cohesive 


2G4  CEREDUAL    PSYCHOLOGY  :    BAIN. 

relations  among  our  subjective  plionomcna.  How  com- 
pletely all  externality  disappears  in  the  H^yo,  when  this 
j)sychology  is  fairly  carried  out,  will  be  evident  from 
the  following  passage,  in  Mhich  tlie  existence  of  light  is 
made  contingent  on  the  visual  feelings,  and  the  whole 
language  of  outward  being  and  causation  is  treated  as 
an  empty  product  of  "  abstraction  :  " 

"  We  seem  to  have  no  better  way  of  assuring  oui-selves 
and  all  mankind  that  with  the  conscious  movement  of  open- 
ing the  eyes  there  will  always  be  a  consciousness  of  light,  tiiau 
by  saying  that  the  light  exists  as  independent  fact,  with  or 
without  any  eyes  to  see  it.  liut  if  we  consider  the  case  faiily, 
we  shall  see  that  this  assertion  errs,  not  simply  in  being 
beyond  any  evidence  that  we  can  have,  but  also  in  being  a 
self-contradiction.  We  are  affirming  tliat  to  have  an  existence 
out  of  our  niiuds  which  we  cannot  know  but  as  in  our  minds. 
In  words  we  assert  independent  existence,  while  in  the  very 
act  of  doing  so  we  contradict  ourselves.  Even  a  possible 
world  implies  a  possible  mind  to  perceive  it,  just  as  much  as 
an  actual  world  implies  an  actual  mind.  The  mistake  of  the 
common  modes  of  expression  in  this  matter,  is  the  mistake  of 
supposing  the  abstractions  of  the  mind  to  liave  a  separ:ite  and 
independent  existence.  This  is  the  doctiine  of  the  Platonic 
'  ideas,'  or  'forms,'  which  are  iniderstood  to  impart  all  that  is 
eonnnon  to  the  particular  facts  or  realilies,  instead  of  being 
dciived  from  them  by  nn  operation  of  the  mind.  Thus  llie 
actual  circles  of  nature  derive  their  malliematical  pro[)er(ics 
from  the  pre-existing '  idea,'  or  circle  in  the  abstract ;  the  actual 
men  owe  thtir  sameness  to  the  ideal  man.  So  instead  of  look- 
ing upon  the  doctrine  of  an  external  and  independent  woild  as 
a  g(Mieralization  or  abstraction  grounded  on  our  parlicuhu* 
expeiiences,  summing  up  the  past,  and  predicting  the  future, 
we  liave  got  into  tlie  way  of  maintaining  the  abstraction  to 
be  an  independent  reality,  the  ibundation,  or  cause,  or  origin, 


CKRECIIAL    PSYCHOLOGY  :    BAIN.  265 

of  nil   those    experiences."      (^TJie   Senses   and  the   Tu'ellect, 
p.  37(5.) 

This  is  tlie  old  pitfall,  where  philosophy,  too  boldly 
steppinj^  on  its  solid-looking  sensational  ground,  has  so 
often  tumbled  tlu'ough  into  a  bottomless  Idealism.  Wc 
arc  not  to  sav,  it  seems,  that  light  exists  as  an  "  inde- 
jK'ndent  fact."  Then  it  exists  either  as  a  dependent 
fact,  or  not  at  all.  If  the  former,  it  is  dependent  on 
vision,  that  is,  on  its  own  effect,  which  is  absurd.  If 
tlie  latter,  then  vision  exists  by  itself;  that  is,  eifcct 
without  the  cause,  ])erce[)tion  with  nothing  perceived. 
Our  author  [dainly  confounds  the  two  inverse  kinds  of 
"dependence," — logical,  in  the  order  of  knowing, — 
real,  in  the  order  of  being:  —  the  crm^a  cognoscendi 
and  the  causa  ef<sendi.  The  l^noicledge  of  light  is 
dependent  on  vision,  its  elFcct ;  the  hc'inrj  of  vision 
is  dependent  on  light,  its  cause:  whose  relative  "indo 
pendent  existence"  is  so  far  from  being  "contradicted," 
that  it  is  directly  implied,  by  its  dependent  logical  posi- 
tion :  —  the  two  things  being  indeed  but  one  and  the 
same  relation  read  from  opposite  ends.  Our  author,  it 
is  true,  affirms  that  "we  cannot  know  light,  hut  as  in 
vur  minds.^^  But  how  so?  Because,  we  presume,  it 
is  known  by  seeing  it,  and  that  is  an  act  of  the  mind. 
Yes,  certainly;  the  seeing: — but,  on  that  very  ac- 
count, not  xXm'/  things  seen:  for  the  cognitive  act, 
instead  of  implying  coalescence  and  identity,  is  con- 
ditional on  separation  and  nuitual  exclusion,  of  the 
knower  and  the  known,  and  can  reveal  neither  except 
as  over  against  the  other.  Were  it  otherwise,  —  were 
all  that  we  know  to  be  on  that  account  seated  at  the 
cognitive  point,  —  knowledge  and  being  nnist  coalesce, 


266  CEUEBRAJL    PSYCIIOLOGY  :    r.AIN. 

and  could  never  look  each  other  in  the  face  :  ii(){]i:nc» 
could  be  known  as  exi.stini;  :  and  nothiiiij:  could  exist  as 
known.  The  intellectual  jiowcr  itself  would  constituie 
a  disqualification  for  intelliLicnce.  If  there  really  were 
external  objects,  and  a  faculty  in  us  for  their  apprehen- 
sion, Mr.  Bain's  argument  A\()!dd  still  apply  :  if  where 
they  are  known,  there  we  must  presume  them  to  be, 
our  <-oi"nizaiice  of  them  as  external  ouiiht  to  be  treated 
as  false  ;  its  truth  would  be  a  proper  gi-ound  for  disbe- 
lieviuL'  it ;  and  the  j)erfect  knowledge  of  a  thing  would 
be  its  absolute  disproof. 

A  psychology  which  allows  us  cognizance  only  of  the 
thread  of  our  own  A'clings  is  obliged  to  account  for 
the  objective  look  and  substantive  pretensions  of  some 
portions  of  ouv  knowledge,  by  making  up  agirregates 
of  feelings,  and  assuming  that  their  chemical  union 
gives  them  the  fallacious  aspect  of  being  more  than  feel- 
ings,—  of  being  elsewhere  than  in  ourselves,  —  of  be- 
ing one  instead  of  many.  The  grand  instrument  of 
this  metamorphosis,  avc  need  hardly  say,  is  the  Asso- 
ciation of  Ide.is,  —  or,  more  ])roperly,  of  actions  and 
mental  states  ;  among  which,  either  contiguous  ternis, 
or  resembling  terms,  have  a  tendency  to  revi\e  each 
other.  This  is  a  vciitablc  and  universally  recognized 
psychological  law :  and  to  the  great  merits  of  his 
school  in  vindicating  its  importance  and  extending  its 
ap[)lication  ]Mr.  liain  has  made  large  additions  in  his 
co[)ious  and  clal)orate  exposition.  A\'ithout  the  oi'igi- 
nality  of  Hartley  (whose  work,  after  every  deduction, 
still  stands  in  the  highest  rank  of  iisvcholo^ical  litera- 
ture),  and  without  the  severe  precision  of  James  Mill, 
our  author  opens  a  fuller  storehouse  of  illustration,  and 


CEREEKAL    PSYCHOLOGY  :    BAIN".  267 

spreads  out  its  contents  in  a  more  tellii;"'  and  arxreeable 
way.  He  is  master  of  all  the  dexterities  of  this  law, 
and  prepared  to  show  the  utmost  that  can  be  done 
with  it.  Whether  it  is  not  overtasked  is  perhaps  a 
natural  question  with  even  the  most  trustful  reader. 
Its  requirements  are  so  modest,  and  its  achievementa 
so  grand,  that  it  is  apt  to  be  suspected  for  the  very 
scale  of  its  apparent  victories.  '  Given  the  rudiments 
of  any  brute,' — so  it  seems  to  state  its  problem, — 
'to  construct  the  perfection  of  any  anii'cl.'  The  five 
senses  and  ganglionic  spontaneities  are  briskly  stretched 
iij)on  the  Jacquard-loom  :  the  cards,  perforated  accord- 
ing to  theory,  are  hung  upon  the  beam  :  and  after  a  few 
chapters  of  cheerful  weaving,  the  divine  form  is  finished 
off;  and  you  have  the  satisfaction  not  only  of  admiring 
it,  but  of  knowing  exactly  what  its  reason,  love,  and 
goodness  are  made  of,  and  how  ])ut  together.  The 
doctrine,  appealing  as  it  docs  chi(;tiy  to  the  earliest 
experience,  and  making  i-;ipid  use  of  the  years  of  in- 
fancy, rests,  to  a  dangerous  extent,  on  a  conjectural 
psvcholoorv..  It  has  alreadv  ijot  over  all  its  difficulties 
before  the  age  when  rellection  can  [uit  it  to  the  test : 
and  when  called  in  question  by  the  mature  and  practised 
self-consciousness,  glibly  answers  that  it  is  too  late  in 
tl'.e  day  to  bring  up  any  inner  e\idence  against  it ;  that 
its  wonders  arc  all  wrought  within  us,  and  can  no  longer 
be  unravelled  ;  that  we  ha\e  been  so  transiormcd  by  it 
as  not  to  know  ourselves,  and  to  be  dcciplierahle  only 
by  its  light  ;  that  what  we  take  to  be  the  simplest 
mental  states  it  knows  to  be  su[)erlatively  com])lex  ;  — 
■what,  the  primary  truths  of  reason,  to  be  the  ultimate 
tricks  of  language  ;  —  what,  the  nati\  c  insight  of  con- 


208  ct:ueiu{al  r.sYciioLoGv  :   hain. 

st.'iom'C,  to  be  the  JU'tifici.iI  i!ii;)()sition  of"  .social  ()i)inioii. 
It  is  always  difficult,  for  want  of  rcc.)gnizcd  criteria,  to 
criticise  hypothetical  history  ;  as,  lor  want  of  coinmon 
substance,  to  fight  a  duel  with  a  i^host.  lJeini>;,  how- 
ever, to  no  small  extent,  at  one  with  this  doctrine,  we 
may  perhaps  hope  to  explain  a  scruple  whicli  checks  our 
complete  assent  to  it.  F.)r  the  sake  of  distinctness  we 
limit  ourselves  to  a  certain  point. 

All  the  langage  of  the  doctrine  is  framed  on  the  sup- 
])osition  that,  a  number  of  elements  being  given,  and 
laid  detached  before  the  mind,  it  cements  them  together 
in  groups  and  trains,  in  ever-increasing  complexity. 
The  mental  history  is,  in  this  view,  a  perpetual  forma- 
tion of  new  compounds  :  and  the  words,  "Association," 
"Suggestion,"  "Cohesion,"  "Fusion,"  "Indissoluble 
Connection,"  all  express  the  change  from  plurality  of 
data  to  some  unity  of  result.  An  exj)lanation  of  tlie 
j)ri)cess  therefore  requires  two  things;  —  a  tiue  enu- 
meration of  the  primary  constituents,  and  a  correct 
statement  of  their  laws  of  combination  :  just  as,  in 
chemistry,  we  are  furnished  with  a  list  of  the  simple 
elements,  and  then  with  the  princi[)lcs  of  their  syn- 
thesis. Now  the  latter  of  these  two  conditions  we 
find  satisfied  by  the  Association  psychologists  :  but  not 
the  former.  They  are  not  agreed  upon  their  catalogue 
of  elements,  or  the  marks  by  which  they  may  know  the 
simple  from  the  compound.  The  psychologic  unit  is 
not  fixed  ;  that  which  is  called  one  imi)ression  by  Hart- 
ley is  treated  as  half-a-dozen  or  more  by  Mill :  and  the 
tendency  of  the  modern  teachers  on  this  point  is  to 
recede  more  and  more  from  the  better  chosen  track 
of  their   master.     Hartley,  for  example,  regarded   tho 


CEREBRAL    rSYGIIOLOGy  :    RAIX.  2Gd 

wliole  present  effect  iijion  us  of  any  single  object, 
—  pay,  an  orange,  —  as  a  snvi;le  sensation;  and  the 
wliole  vestige  it  left  behind,  as  a  single  "idea  of  sensa- 
tion." His  modern  disci[)les,  on  the  other  hand,  con- 
sider this  same  effect  as  an  aggregate  from  a  plurality 
of  sensations,  and  the  ideal  tr.ice  it  leaves  as  highly 
compound.  The  "idea  of  an  object,"  instead  of  being 
an  elementary  starting-point  with  them,  is  one  of  the 
elaborate  results  of  re[)etition  and  e.\[)erien('e  ;  and  is 
continually  adduced  as  remarkably  illustrating  the  fus- 
ing j)0\ver  of  habitual  association.  Thus  James  Mill 
observes  : 

''It  is  to  this  great  law  of  a?sociation  that  we  trace  the 
fbnnation  of  our  ideas  of  what  we  call  external  objects  ;  that 
is,  the  ideas  of  a  certain  number  of"  sensations,  received  to- 
gether so  frequently  that  tiiey  coalesce  as  it  were,  and  are 
spoken  of  under  the  idea  of  unity.  Hence,  what  we  call  tlie 
idea  of  a  tree,  the  idea  of  a  stone,  the  idea  of  a  iioi'sc,  tlie  idea 
of  a  in;ni.  In  using  the  names,  tree,  horse,  man,  the  names  of 
what  I  call  object-,  I  am  referring,  aiul  can  be  I'ei'erring.  only 
to  my  own  s<;nsations;  in  fart,  thei'efbre,  only  naming  a  certain 
number  of  sens;itions,  regarded  as  in  a  particular  state  of 
combinaiion  ;  that  is,  concomitance.  Particular  sensations 
of  sight,  of  touch,  of  the  nuiscles,  an;  the  sensations  to  tlie 
ideas  of  which,  color,  extension,  roughness,  hardness,  smooth- 
ness, taste,  smell,  so  coalescing  as  to  appear  one  idea,  I  give 
the  name,  idea  of  a  tree."* 

To  j)rccis('ly  the  same  effect  Mr.  Bain  remarks  : 

"  External  objects  usually  aff(!ct  us  through  a  |)lurality  of 
senses.  The  |'.el  hie  on  the  seashore  is  pictuix'd  on  tlie  eye  a.s 
form  and  color.      We  lakd'  it  u[)  in   tin;   hand  and   re()eat  tho 

*  Aiialyiis  ol'  tlic  I'limiiiiuciia  ot  the  Iluinaii  .Mind,  vol.  i.  p.  71. 


270  CEUEBHAL    rSYCIIOLOGV  :     HAIN. 

impression  of  form,  with  the  adtlilionnl  reeling  of  touch 
Knock  two  together,  and  there  is  u  cliaracteristic  soiniti. 
To  preserve  tlie  impression  of  an  object  ol"  this  kind,  there 
must  he  an  association  of  all  these  different  effects.  Sneli 
nssot'ialion,  when  matured  and  firm,  is  our  idea,  our  intellectual 
grasp  of  the  p(!l)l)lc.  Passing  to  the  organic  world,  and  pluck- 
ing a  rose,  we  have  the  same  effects  of  form  to  the  eye  ami 
hand,  color  and  touch,  with  the  new  effects  of  odor  and  taste. 
A  certain  tiuie  is  re(piisitc  for  the  cohenmce  of  all  these  (piali- 
ties  in  one  aggregate,  so  as  to  give  us  for  all  purposes  the 
enduring  image  of  the  rose.  When  fully  acquired,  any  one 
of  the  characteristic  impressions  will  revive  the  others;  tlie 
odor,  the  sight,  the  feeling  of  the  thorny  stalk,  —  each  of  these 
by  itself  will  hoist  the  entire  impression  into  the  view."  (  TUe 
Senses  and  the  Intellect,  j).  411.) 

Now,  this  order  of  derivation,  makini^  our  ohjccrive 
kncmledgc  begin  with  plurality  of  impression  and  arrive 
at  unity,  we  take  to  be  a  complete  inversion  of  our 
psychological  history.  Hartley,  wc  think,  was  per- 
fectly right  in  taking  no  notice  of  the  number  of  iidets 
through  which  an  object  delivers  its  efllect  upon  us,  and, 
in  spite  of  this  circumstance,  treating  the  effect  as  one. 
Had  he  explicitly  drawn  out  the  ])rinciplc  which  im- 
plicitly guided  him,  it  would  have  assumed  perhaps 
something  like  this  form:  'That  each  state  of  con- 
sciousness, whether  awakened  through  more  or  fl'wer 
channels,  is,  during  its  continuance,  originally  simple  ; 
and  can  resolve  itself  only  by  change  of  ccpiililnium.' 
Xo  psychological  law  aj)[)cars  to  have  higher  evidence 
than  this ;  and,  little  as  the  range  of  its  consequences 
has  been  perceived,  there  are  probably  few  who  would 
dispute  it  when  stated  in  a  general  form.  Were  it  not 
true,  the  feeling  of  each  moment,  determined  as  it  is  by 


CEREBPwVL    PSYCIIOLOC.V  :    BAIN'.  271 

innumerable  conditions  in  our  organism,  not  one  of 
which  could  change  and  leave  our  state  the  same,  would 
seem  to  us,  or  must  once  have  seemed,  infinitely  intri- 
cate. But  the  constancies  of  our  system,  however  nu- 
merous, never  disclose  themselves  till  they  break  up  ; 
the  functional  sensibilities  of  the  organic  life  first  report 
their  character  when  they  go  wrong ;  the  muscles, 
blciulcd  in  a  state  of  rest,  detach  themselves  by  tiie 
permutations  of  motion,  and  acquire,  as  in  learning 
the  use  of  a  keyed  instrument,  more  and  more  delicate 
discriminations  of  feeling  and  action  ;  and  if  the  special, 
senses  less  obviously  converge  upon  one  psychologic 
point,  it  is  only  because  their  relations  are  perpetually 
shifting  inter  se,  and  disajipointing  our  experiments  of 
the  reiiui.-ite  stati(,'al  conditions.  But  even  now,  after 
life  has  read  us  so  many  analytic  lessons,  in  proportion 
as  we  can  fix  the  attitude  of  our  scene  and  ourselves, 
the  sense  of  pluraHty  ii»  our  inii)ressions  retreats,  and 
we  lapse  into  an  undivided  consciousness  ;  losing,  for 
instance,  the  st!j)arati;  notice  of  any  uniform  hum  in  the 
ear,  or  light  in  the  eye,  or  weiglit  of  clothes  on  the  body, 
tijough  not  one  of  tiieni  is  inoperatixe  on  the  complex- 
i(Mi  of  our  feeling.  Tiiis  law,  once  granted,  must  be 
carried  far  beyond  Hartley's  point.  Not  only  must 
each  o!>je(t  present  it:-elf  to  us  integrally  before  it  shells 
off  into  its  qualities,  but  the  whole  scene  around  us 
nuist  disengage  for  us  object  after  object  from  its  still 
background  by  emergence  and  change  ;  and  even  our 
self-detachment  from  the  world  ovcr-against  us  must 
wait  for  the  start  of  collision  between  the  foi-cc  we  issue 
and  that  which  we  recei\e.  To  confine  ourselves  to  the 
BJujplest  case  :   when  a  icd  ivory-ball,  seen   for  the  first 


272  CEREBRAL    rSYCIIOLOGY  :     BAIN'. 

time,  has  been  withdrawn,  it  will  leave  a  mental  repre- 
sentation of  itself,  in  which  all  that  it  sinmltaneously 
gn\c  us  will  indistimjui-shahly  co-exist.  Let  a  white 
ball  succeed  to  it ;  now,  and  not  before,  will  an  attrib- 
ute detach  itself,  and  the  color,  by  force  of  contrast,  be 
shaken  out  into  the  foreground.  Let  tiie  white  ball 
be  replaced  by  an  egg :  and  this  new  did'erence  will 
bring  the  f«)rn«  into  notice  from  its  previous  slumber. 
And  thus,  that  which  began  by  being  simply  an  object, 
cut  out  from  the  surrounding  scene,  becomes  for  us  first 
a  fed  object,  and  then  a  red  round  object ;  and  so  on. 
Instead,  therefore,  of  the  qualities,  as  separately  given, 
subscribing  together  and  adding  themselves  up  to  pre- 
sent us  with  the  object  as  their  aggregate,  the  object  is 
beforehand  with  them,  and  from  its  integrity  delivers  them 
cut  to  our  knowledge,  one  by  one.  In  this  disintegra- 
ticn,  the  primary  nucleus  never  loses  its  substantive  char- 
acter or  name  ;  whilst  the  dirterence  which  it  throws  ofl' 
appears  as  a  mere  attribute,  expressed  by  an  adjective. 
Hence  it  is  that  we  are  compelled  to  think  of  the  ob- 
ject as  liaving,  not  .as  beiiif/,  its  (pialities  ;  and  can 
never  heartily  admit  the  belief  of  any  loose  lot  of  attri- 
butes really  fusing  themselves  into  a  thliifj.  The  unity 
of  the  original  whole  is  not  felt  to  go  to  pieces  and  be 
resolved  into  the  properties  which  it  successively  gives 
off;  it  retains  a  I'csiduary  existence,  which  constitutes 
it  a  subtilfmce,  as  against  the  emerging  quality,  which 
is  only  its  phenomenal  predicate.  Were  it  not  for 
this  perpetual  ])roccss  of  differentiation  —  of  self  from 
the  world,  of  object  from  its  scene,  of  attribute  from  ob- 
ject, no  step  of  Abstraction  could  i)e  taken  ;  no  qualities 
ould  fall  under  our  notice  ;   and  hud  we  ten  thousand 


CEREBRAL    rSYCIIOLOGY  :    DAIX.  273 

senses,  they  would  all  converge  nnd  meet  in  but  one 
consciousness.  But  it'  this  be  so,  it  is  an  utter  t'alsiti- 
cation  of  the  order  of  nature  to  s[)eak  of  sensations 
grou})ing  themselves  into  aggregates,  and  so  coni[)osing 
for  us  the  objects  of  Avhich  we  think  ;  and  the  whole 
language  of  the  theory,  in  regard  to  the  field  of  syn- 
chronous existences,  is  a  direct  inversion  of  the  truth. 
Experience  proceeds  and  intellect  is  trained,  not  by 
Association,  but  by  Ulssociation,  not  b}'  reduction 
of  pluralities  of  impression  to  one,  but  by  the  opening 
out  of  one  into  many  ;  and  a  true  psychological  history 
must  expound  itself  in  analytic  rather  than  synthetic 
terms.  Precisely  those  ideas,  —  of  Substance,  of  ^lind, 
of  Cause,  of  Space,  —  which  this  system  treats  as  inh- 
nitely  complex,  the  last  result  of  myriads  of  conHuent 
elements,  are  in  truth  the  residuary  simplicities  of  con- 
sciousness, whose  stability  the  eddies  and  currents  of 
phenomenal  experience  have  left  undisturbed.  Tlie 
same  inversion  of  the  real  mental  order  has  exercised, 
we  think,  an  injm'ious  influence  on  the  whole  Logic  and 
Philology  of  the  Association  philosophers  ;  the  organ- 
ism of  speech  requiring,  for  its  due  inter[)retation,  to 
be  read  downicard  tiom  its  wholes  into  its  parts  ;  and, 
without  this,  being  hardly  capable  of  construction  up- 
wards from  the  atoms  of  predication  to  its  lite.  We 
cannot  at  j)rcsent  expand  these  hints ;  but  they  will 
suffice  to  show  the  wide  sweep  which  a  fundamental 
psychological  truth  or  error  caimot  fiil  to  ha\e,  and 
how  the  whole  configuration  of  philosophy  may  be 
affected  by  even  a  slight  want  of  [)rec!si()n  in  its  first 
lines.  Mr.  Bain  often  approaches  very  near  the  im- 
portant principle  (as  it  seems  to  us)   of  the  Unity  of 

18 


274        CEUEBRAL  PSYCHOLOGY  :  BAIN. 

original  consciousness  ;  speaking,  for  instance,  of  "  the 
concurrence  of  Sensations  in  one  common  stream  of 
consciousness,  in  the  same  cerebral  highway"  (7%e 
/Senses  and  the  Intellect,  p.  359)  ;  and  in  the  follow- 
ing passage  not  only  recognizing,  but  enforcing,  the 
necessity  of  differentiation  by  change : 

**  Were  it  not  for  the  primitive  shock  that  difference  gives, 
there  wouhl  be  no  bai^is  for  the  intellect.  All  colors  wouhl  be 
alike ;  sounds  would  not  be  distinct  from  touches  or  smelb, 
and  there  would  be  no  cognition  possible  in  any  sense.  The 
feehng  of  difference,  therefore,  is  the  first  step  ;  tlie  impress- 
ing of  that,  under  the  plastic  property  of  the  mind,  into  an 
enduring  notion  is  the  next.  We  begin  by  being  alive  to  the 
distinctive  shocks  of  red  and  green,  of  round  and  oval,  small 
and  large;  by  and  by,  we  attain  to  tbe  fixed  notion  of  a  rose 
on  its  stem  ;  thence  we  go  on  combining  this  with  others,  until 
the  mind  is  full  of  the  most  variegated  trains  of  imagery. 
The  laws  of  association  follow  up,  and  do  not  necessarily 
iinjdy,  or  contain  in  themselves,  the  primordial  sense  of  diffei-- 
ence,  which  is  the  most  rudimentary  of  all  the  properties  of 
our  intellectual  being.  Analysis  can  descend  no  d('e])er,  ex- 
planation can  go  no  farther;  we  mu^t  make  a  stand  upon  this, 
as  the  preliminary  condition  of  all  intelligence,  and  merely 
seek  to  phice  its  character  in  a  clear  and  certain  light."  (T/ie 
JCinotio)is  and  the  Will,  p.  G2G.) 

Whilst  insisting,  however,  on  the  indispensableness 
of  change  of  impression,  Mr.  Bain  apparently  thinks 
this  condition  sufficiently  provided  for  by  the  mere 
co-existence  of  sensations  through  a  plurality  of  Senses  ; 
the  power  of  discriminating  wliich  he  attributes  to  the 
Intellect  as  an  ultimate  and  fundamental  prerogative  : 

"  The  basis  or  fundamental  peculiarity  of  the  Intellect  ia 
discrimination,  or  the  feeling  of  difference  between  consecutive, 


CEREBRAL    PSYCHOLOGY  :    BAIN'.  275 

or  co-exis>in(j  impressions.  Notliing  more  fiiiKlamental  can 
possibly  be  assigned  as  the  defining  mark  of  intelligence,  and 
emotion  as  such  does  not  imply  any  such  property."  (^The 
Emotions  and  the    Will,  p.  G14.) 

"  Consecutive  impressions  "  involve  cliange  :  ])iit  "  co- 
existing impressions  "  do  not :  and  if  the  discriniin-itive 
power  is  eqiinily  related  to  both,  it  is  not  dc[)cndciit 
on  the  occurrence  of  change.  And  conversclv,  if  it  de- 
mand change,  it  can  do  notliing  with  mere  co-existing 
impressions.  Tiiis  last  position  we  belicye  to  be  tiie 
true  one  ;  and  we  cannot  assent  to  Dugald  Stewait's 
statement  :  ''Although  we  had  never  seen  but  one  ro<e, 
we  might  still  ha\e  been  :ii>le  to  attend  to  its  color. 
without  thinking  of  its  other  [)ropcrties."  *  Mr.  Bain, 
in  concurring  with  this  ojjinion  of  Stewart's,  and  at- 
tributing plurality  to  the  original  eH'cct  of  a  single 
object,  appears  to  us  to  forget  his  own  doctrine  as  to 
impossibility  of  any  sense  of  difference  without  change, 
and  to  let  slip  a  psychological  clue  already  familiar  to 
his  hand. 

We  have  lingered  near  the  incunabula  of  the  oppo- 
site psychologies  in  the  liope  that,  by  scrutiny  of  their 
development  at  its  initial  stage,  some  approximate  lines 
might  be  foiuul  for  them  to  prevent  their  rapid  diver- 
gence. The  oidy  hope  of  im[)roved  mutual  understand- 
ing lies  at  the  beginning.  To  discuss  the  ulterior 
questions  into  which  they  run  is  a  far  easier  and  more 
attractive  task  ;  but,  at  the  same  time!,  utterly  useless, 
till  the  logical  preliminaries  are  determined  —  a  mere 
race  from  dillerent  starting-points  over  inconunensin-ablo 

*  Klenicnts  of  the  riiilo.<opliy  of  tlio  Human  Jliiul,  part  ii.  clia|i.  iv. 
sect.  1. 


270  CEliKBKAL    I'SYCHOLOGY  :    BAIN. 

fields.  The  enormous  differences  wliich  open  out  ns  the 
two  methods  pursue  their  way  suffice,  for  those  who 
know  them,  to  tiirow  an  interest  around  the  finer  dis- 
tinctions at  the  commencement.  If"  the  duahstic  method 
he  admissihle,  we  ohtain  at  the  fountain-head,  unless 
our  ultimate  constitution  be  unveracious,  direct  authority 
for  a  few  primitive  cognitions,  accurately  corresponding 
with  the  most  rooted  and  universal  beliefs  of  mankind 
—  viz.  the  substantial  existence  (>f  ourselves  as  knowing 
Subject,  and  of  the  external  world  as  known  OI)iect ; 
the  reality  and  infinity  of  Space  as  the  seat  of  the  latter 
with  its  contents,  and  the  reality  and  infinity  of  Dura- 
tion as  containing  the  successions  of  the  former ;  the 
origin  of  all  phenomena  from  a  causality  not  phenome- 
nal. In  such  judgments,  acce[)ted  as  the  inherent 
j)ostulates  of  all  intelligence,  we  have. a  few  first  truths 
to  render  experience  [)ossible,  and  to  form  a  basis  for 
reliable  knowledge.  If  the  monistic  principle  holds,  if 
the  only  thing  accessible  to  us  is  our  own  phenon)ena, 
if  they  are  but  transformed  sensations,  it',  moreover, 
they  arc  |)henomena  of  nothing  and  nobody,  — it  is  idle 
to  speak  of  cognition  at  all ;  there  is  neither  outer  world 
to  be  known,  nor  any  "  we "  to  know  it:  the  inner 
history  alone  is  fact ;  and  it  can  furnish  no  rational 
])ropositions,  except  about  the  groupings,  the  succes- 
sions, or  the  resemblances  inter  se,  of  the  feelings  and 
ideas  composing  it.  Body  means  the  experience  of 
certain  muscidar  sensations ;  S|)ace,  the  exj)erience 
of  their  absence ;  Infinity,  the  conception  of  their 
j)ossibility  ;  and  what  we  say  of  these  can  be  only 
autobiographical,  without  validity  beyond.  Causality 
denotes  the  constant  priority  of  one  of  our  states  to 


CEREBRAL  TSYCHOLOGY  :  BAIN.        277 

another.       Belief   means   an   association    of  ideas    and 
feelings,    strong  enough   to    stir    uuisenlar    sensations. 
Perception  is  a  very  misleading  word  ;    pretending  to 
refer   some   sensation   to   an    object   that   gives   it,    but 
jn-operly   referring   it   only  to   the   group   that   has    it. 
Personality  is  the  sum -total  of  all   tlie  feelings   in   any 
one  conscious  life  n[)  to  its  present  moment,  —  in  com- 
m;)n  language,  rather  aristocratically  limited   to   Imman 
beings;   and  to  say,  'I  committed  this   sin,'  is   to  tack 
ou  a  new  plienomenon  at  the  end  of  a  tra'n  and  lengthen 
its  thre;;d.      There  can  be  no  first  truths  ;  i'or  we  form 
no  judgments  till  we  have  got  language,  and  must  have 
the  parts  of  speech  before  we  can  ])redicate  any  thing ; 
and  then  any  stiff  association   of  ideas,  however  arbi- 
trary, is  ready  to  set  u[)  for  self-evidence.      The  propo- 
sitions which  assume  this  look  are  about  nothing  except 
empty  abstractions  of  the  mind's  creation,  yielding  only 
an  illusory  certainty  ;  and  it  is  a  rule  that  a  Science,  to 
be   demonstrative,   nuist    be   hypothetical  ;    and,   to    be 
pure,    its   hypotheses    must   be   false.      The    steadiness 
Avith  which  the  thorough-paced  Ilartlevan  walks  through 
these  startling  paradoxes,  —  the  rigor  with  wliieh  he  fol- 
lows out  their  lines,  with  a  pleasant  sense  of  beauty  and 
discovery,  —  we  cannot  but  regard  as  cui'iously  express- 
ive of  the  mind  logical  rather  than  psychological.      The 
skill  and  ingenuity  are  often  marvellous  ;    but  to  a  very 
large  extent  are  expended,  not  in  interpreting,  so  much 
as  in  explaining  away,  your  actual   consciousness  ;    in 
convertinir   it    into    some   stranuc,    uncoinfortaI)Ie   coin, 
declared  to  be  its  change  in  full  ;    in  apologizing  tor  the 
imperfect  evidence  of   their  ecpjivalence,   and   siiowing 
that  it  could  not  well   be  greater,  considering  all  that 


278  CEREBRAL    rSYCHOLOCJY  :    BAIN. 

they  have  had  to  go  tlirough.  Just  as  Mr.  Darwin, 
on  finding  fossil  species  disinclined  to  Ixelp  liini,  fixes  on 
them  an  ex-partc  character,  and  urges  that  his  genuine 
witnesses  must  have  disappeared  and  become  indistin- 
guishably  worked  up  into  the  very  grain  of  the  world  ; 
so  does  the  Association  psychologist  feel  no  discoin*- 
agcment  from  the  refractory  look  of  mental  fiots  as 
they  are,  whilst  he  can  plead  that  the  rudimentary  forms 
are  compelled  by  the  very  hypothesis  to  vanish,  and  lie 
mingled  invisibly  with  the  containing  strata  of  the  nund. 
There  is  obviously  a  limit  beyond  which  this  kind  of 
plea  cannot  be  carried  without  withdrawing  the  tloctiiue 
it  is  meant  to  benefit  from  all  rational  test:  and  the 
extent  to  which  it  is  urged,  measures  the  degree  in 
which  conjecture  takes  the  |)lace  of  the  vevd  causa. 
Now,  when  it  is  remembered  that  almost  every  one  of 
the  distinctively  human  phenomena  presents  a  crux 
interpretum  to  this  school ;  that  the  ])oints  at  which 
8usi)icion  of  psychological  tampering  arises  include  the 
Ideas  of  Space  and  Time,  the  ground  of  the  Mathe- 
matics; of  Substance  and  Causality,  implied  in  Phys- 
ics; of  Personality  and  Ol)ligation,  the  conditions  of 
Morals  ;  of  Right,  the  basis  of  Law  ;  of  Beauty,  the 
essence  of  Art ;  of  Supreme  Goodness,  the  inspiration 
of  Religion  ;  that  whilst  Memory  and  Conception  and 
Habit  are  fairly  explained,  Belief  and  Volition  are 
analyzed  out  of  their  identity ;  the  disproportion  be- 
comes striking  between  the  assured  value  of  the  doctiine 
and  its  cost.  At  every  one  of  these  points,  Mr.  Bain's 
exposition  has,  to  our  feeling,  the  peculiar  character  of 
ingenious  unreality  which  is  so  common  in  all  the  later 
writings  of  his  school,  and  which  so  markedly  distin- 


cei:ebi:al  isYCiiOLoav  :   baix.  279 

guislics  the  subtle  niisconstrnctioiis  of  Brown  nnd  ^Ii!l 
from  the  faithful  half-aiiiilysis  of  Locke.  We  find  our- 
selves entangled  continually  in  mere  qnasi-psuchologij, 
which  does  not  in  the  least  sj)eak  to  any  thing  within  : 
but  shows  how,  under  certain  enumerated  conditions, 
an  equiv;dent  to  the  actual  state  of  mind  might  be  pro- 
duced. This  is  more  especially  the  case  in  the  second 
volume,  where  the  author's  descri[)tion  of  the  moral 
phenomena  seems  to  us  to  be  drawn  from  some  quite 
imaginary  human  nature  ;  and  to  have  no  relation  to 
the  real  experiences  and  faiths  of  tempted  and  strug- 
gling men.  Highly  significant  of  his  method  in  this 
res[)ect  is  his  habitual  discontent  with  the  lanyauge  in 
which  men  have  embodied  their  ethical  feeling  and 
thouglit.  The  great  question  of  Moral  Liberty  is  got 
rid  of  by  a  wholesale  objection  to  every  one  of  its  lead- 
ing terms  :  "  Freedom  "  is  inappropriate  ;  "  Nt.'ccssity  " 
is  an  incumbi'ance  ;  "  Self-determination  "  is  a  bad  name 
for  motive  pleasures  and  pains  ;  "  Choice "  can  mean 
nothing  but  the  ending  of  suspense  in  a  single  line  of 
activity  ;  and  so  on.  These  terms  "  have  weighed  like 
a  nightmare  upon  the  investigation  of  th-e  active  region 
of  the  mind."  Docs  the  suspicion  never  cross  ]Mr. 
Bain  that  to  cancel  the  vocabulary  of  moral  thought  and 
feeling  is  to  discharge  the  phenomena  from  his  j>lii!oso- 
phy  ?  AVe  refrain,  however,  from  following  him  at 
present  into  this  great  field  ;  his  elaborate  treatment  of 
which  would  require  an  independent  discussion. 


280 


REVELATION;    WHAT    IT  IS   NOT  AND   WHAT 

IT  IS.* 


As  there  is  a  substance,  we  believe,  which  not  only 
burns  in  water,  but  actually  kinf^'es  at  the  very  touch 
of  water,  so  there  certainly  are  insatiable  doubts,  which 
not  only  resist  the  power,  but  seem  to  kindle  at  the  very 
centre  of  Christian  faith.  There  is  one  question  which 
we  should  have  supposed  set  at  rest  for  ever  in  the 
mind  of  any  man  who  believes  either  in  the  revelations 
of  conscience  or  tho^sc  of  Scripture,  —  the  question 
whether  or  not  it  is  permitted  to  man  to  know,  and 
grow  in  the  knowledge  of,  God.  If  that  be  not  possi- 
ble, we,  for  our  part,  should  have  assumed  that  religion 
was  a  name  for  unwise,  because  useless,  yearnings  in 
the  heart  of  man  ;  and  the  Revelation —  whether  natu- 
ral or  supernatural — which  professes  to  satisfy  those 
yearnings,  simj)ly  a  delusion.  Yet  so  numerous  and 
closely  twined  are  the  threads  of  human  faith  and  scep- 

•  Wli.it  is  Revelation  V  A  Series  of  Sermons  on  the  Ki>i))!inny;  fowliicli 
are  adt'ed  "  Letters  to  a  Student  of  'riie<ilo;iy  on  the  IJan'iplon  I.eciuns  oi 
Mr.  ManscI  "  Uy  the  Kev.  F.  I).  Alauriie, -M.A.  Cambridge:  Maeniillan, 
1859. 

Preface  to  the  Third  Edition  of  Mr.  ^lansel's  Hampton  Leetiires  on  llio 
Limits  of  Itelifjious 'riioii;,'Iit.     London:  ^lurray.  1807. 

Chanieteristics  of  tlie  Gospel  Miracles:  .Sermons  preached  before  the  Uni- 
vevBity  of  Cambridge.    Bj*  F.  B.  Westcott,  M.A.    Cambridge:  Macioillau. 

National  Ueview,  Juiy,  lS5y. 


revelation;  what  it  is  not,  etc.  281 

ticism,  tluit  probably  half  the  Christian  world  scarce! v 
knows  whether  to  think  God  Iliuisjclt'  the  t^ubject  of 
Kevelation,  or  only  some  fragment  of  his  purposes  for 
man ;  while  professed  apologists  for  Ciuistianity  arc 
often,  like  Mr.  Mansel,  far  fiiMuer  believen*  in  the  irre- 
movable veil  which  covers  the  face  of  God,  than  in  the 
faint  gleams  of  light  which  manage  to  penetrate  what 
they  hold  to  be  its  almost  opaque  texture.  And,  as  wc 
have  intimated,  this  doubt  is  not  only  not  extinguished 
by  tiie  Christian  Revelation,  but  it  seems  in  some  case.* 
even  to  feed  on  its  very  essence.  Mv.  Mansel  seems  to 
regard  the  Cliristian  re\elation  almost  as  exjiress  evi- 
dence that  God  is  inscrutable  and  inaccessi!)le  to  man, 
in  that  it  only  provides  for  us  a  "  finite  "  ty[)C  of  the 
infinite  mystery,  and  presents  to  lis  in  Christ  not,  lie 
thinks,  the  truth  of  God,  but  the  best  approximation  to 
that  truth  —  though  possibly  infinitely  removed  from  it 
—  of  which  "finite"  minds  arc  capable.  In  other 
words,  he  believes  in  the  veil  even  more  intensely  than 
in  the  revelation  :  nay,  he  seems  to  think  this  profound 
conviction  —  that  the  veil  is  inherent  ii>  the  very  essence 
of  our  human  nature,  and  indissoluble  even  by  death 
itself,  unless  death  can  dissever  the  formal  laws  of 
human  and  finite  thought  —  likely  to  enhance  our  rev- 
erence for  the  voices,  so  mysteriously  "adapted"-  to 
finite  intelligence,  whi(;h  float  to  us  from  behind  it. 
"In  this  impotence  of  Reason,"  he  says,  "  wc  are  com- 
pelled to  take  refuge  in  faith,  and  to  believe  that  an 
Infinite  Being  exists,  though  we  know  not  how;  and  that 
lie  is  the  same  with  that  Jicing  who  is  made;  known  in 
consciousness  as  our  Sustainer  and  our  Lawgi\er." 
And  again,   in   the  preface  to   liis   new  edition ; 


282  REVELATION ; 

"  It  li:is  lice II  objected  by  reviewers  of  very  nj);;n«ite  sfl:(i(il.'^, 
that  to  deny  to  man  a  knowledge  of  llie  Iiilinite,  h  to  make 
Revelation  itself"  impossible,  and  to  leav(!  «io  room  lor  evi- 
(Jenees  on  wliieh  reason  can  be  legitimately  employed.  Tlie 
objection  would  be  jjertinent,  if  I  ba<l  ever  maintaiiifd  fliat 
Revelation  is,  or  can  be,  a  direct  manife.-^tation  of  the  In- 
finite natnre  of  God.  Hut  I  have  constantly  asserted  the 
very  reverse.  In  Revelation,  as  in  Natural  Religion,  God  i.s 
represented  under  fniite  conceptions,  a  lapled  to  finite  minds; 
and  tiie  evidences  on  which  the  authority  of  Revelation  rests 
are  finite  and  comj)rehensible  also.  It  is  true  that  in  Revela- 
tion, no  less  than  in  the  exercise  of  our  natural  faculties,  theru 
is  indirectly  indicated  the  existence  of  a  higher  truth,  which, 
as  it  cannot  be  grasped  by  any  effort  of  human  thought,  can- 
not be  made  the  vehicle  of  any  valid  philosophical  criticism. 
But  the  comprehension  of  this  higher  truth  is  no  more  neces- 
sary either  to  a  belief  in  the  contents  of  Revelation,  or  to  a 
roasonable  examination  of  its  evidences,  than  a  conception  of 
the  infinite  divisibility  of  matter  is  necessary  to  the  child 
before  it  can  learn  to  walk." 

The  fact  of  Kcvclatlon,  as  it  is  conceived  hy  INfr. 
Manse! ,  is,  tlien,  a  mere  adaptation  of  rnith  to  liiunan 
forms  of  thought,  wliether  it  come  through  cousciciT'c 
or  through  Scripture;  in  both  cases  alike  it  is  the 
formation  in  our  minds  of  :i '' representative  idea,"  or 
tyi)e,  of  God,  not  the  direct  presentation  of  the  Di\  ino 
Life  to  our  spirits,  which  he  believes  tliat  we  could  not 
receive  and  live.  By  conscience  the  vision  of  a  holv 
but  finite  Judge,  Lawgiver,  Father,  is  borne  in  upon 
our  hearts,  namely,  througli  the  consciousness  of  our 
dependence  and  of  moral  obligation  ;  by  Scri[)ture  the 
historical  picture  of  a  finite  law,  a  Providence  adapted 
to  finite  minds,  and  l»stly,  a  finite  but  perfect  Son  is 


"WHAT    IT    IS    NOT    AND    WHAT    IT    IS.  283 

presented  to  our  eyes.  Thus  certain  mes?a.Q:cs  h\x^ 
issued  from  tlie  depths  of"  the  infinite  nivsterv.  \vhic!i 
have  been  mercifidly  trnnshitcd  for  us  into  the  nie:igi-e 
forms  of  human  thoui;ht :  some  of  them  are  spontane- 
ously welcomed  by  human  consciences  ;  others,  attested 
as  they  are  by  superhuman  marvels,  and  not  inconsist- 
ent with  the  revelations  of  the  conscience,  are  accepted 
as  convincing"  by  hum.in  reason  ;  and  both  alike  helj)  to 
teach  us,  —  not  what  (x!)d  is,  —  but  how  we  may  think 
of  Him  with  least  risk  of  unspeakable  error.  By  these 
ne(;essarily  indirect  hints,  as  the  ti'uest  of  whi'h  our 
nature  is  capable,  Mr.  Manscl  enti'eats  us  to  hold,  and 
to  guide  our  footsteps  ;  calling  them  "regulati\e  tiuths," 
by  which  he  means  the  best  icorki>i(j  hiijwfhfisls  we 
are  able  to  attain  of  the  clniracfer  and  pur|)oses  of 
God.  They  are  the  only  palliatives  of  that  dirkness,  to 
which  tlie  blinding  veil  of  a  human  nature  inevitably 
doonis  us.  Eevelalion,  we  are  tt)l(l,  cannot  unloose  tlie 
"cramping"  laws  of  a  limited  consciousness;  it  cannot 
hcl[)  the  finite  to  a;)prehenil  the  infinite;  but  it  can  do 
S(nncthing  to  guide  us  iu  our  I )1  i ii d nest* ,  so  that  we  '.j.ay 
not  unconsciously  fail  foul  of  the  forces  and  laws  of  th;;t 
infinite  world  which  we  are  unable  to  know  ;  it  can  gi\e 
us  a  "conception"  of  Ciod,  which  is  quite  true  enough 
as  a  [traetical  manual  for  human  conduct.  But,  to  use 
jNIr.  Mansefs  own  words,  "  how  far  that  knowledge  rep- 
resents God  as  He  is,  we  know  not,  and  have  no  need 
to  know." 

With  this  theorv  of  Mr.  Mansel's  we  have  already 
dealt  in  part.*  We  should  rejoice  that  it  had  been 
gi\en  to  the  world  if  only  for  the   rei)ly  which    it  has 

*  bcc  page  'Hi. 


284  REVELATION  ; 

called  forth  from  Mr.  Maurice,  —  a  icply  \v]ii(!li  is  not 
merely  an  embodiment  of  a  completely  opposite  eonvio 
tion,  but  the  insiuTcctiou  of  an  outraged  faith,  the 
jirotest  of  a  whole  character  against  a  doctrine  which 
j)i'onounces  that  all  the  spring's  of  its  life  have  been 
delusions,  and  which  tries  to  j)ass  off  human  notions  of 
God  in  the  place  of  (iod.  Books  generally  go  but  a. 
little  way  below  the  outer  varnish  of  men's  individual 
culture;  and  it  is  not  a  little  delightful  to  meet  with 
any  that  has  idl  the  various  life  and  complexity  of  the 
mind  itself.  "J'he  somewhat  thin  and  triumphant  logic 
of  the  IJampton  lectures,  the  evident  preference  for 
analyzing  the  notions  of  man  rather  than  I'cturning  to 
the  study  of  the  realities  from  which  those  notions  were 
first  derived ;  the  dogmatic  condemnation  of  human 
lieason  to  be  imprisoned  as  long  as  it  I'cmains  human 
in  "the  Finite;"  and  finally,  and  most  of  all,  the 
gospel  of  God's  inaccessibility,  —  might  in  any  case 
probably  have  drawn  from  Mr.  ^Maurice  a  solenm  [)ro- 
test ;  but  when  all  these  instruments  are  used  avowedly 
in  defence  of  Christianity,  and  Christ  is  himself  put 
forward,  not  as  the  perfect  Revelation,  but  as  the  least 
inadequate  symbol  of  the  divine  nature,  we  do  not 
wonder  that  the  tone  of  Mr.  Maurice's  reply  is,  if 
alwavs  charitable,  often  sad  and  stern.  Mr.  JNIansel 
preaches  that  the  s{)here  of  Kcason  is  the  field  of 
human  things  ;  Mr.  Maurice,  that  every  fruitful  study 
of  human  things  implies  a  real  insight  into  things 
divine.  Mr.  Mansel  holds  that  the  hmnan  mind  is 
"cramped  by  its  own  laws;"  and  that  divine  realities, 
therclbre,  so  far  as  they  can  be  the  subject  of  its 
thoughts  at  all,  must  be  stunted,  or,  as  the  phrase  is, 


WHAT    IT    IS    NOT    AM)    WHAT    IT    IS.  285 

"accommodated"  to  the  unfortunately  dwarfed  dimen- 
sions of  the  recipient :  Mr,  Maurice  liolds  that  tlie 
mind  of  man  i?  ''adapted"  to  lay  a  gradual  hold  of 
the  divine  truth  it  is  to  apprehend,  and  to  grow  into  its 
immensity  ;  instead  of  the  divine  truth  being  "  adapted  '" 
to  the  little  capacities  of  the  human  mind.  Mr.  Man- 
^el  holds,  as  we  have  seen,  that  Christianity  tells  us 
just  enough  to  keep  us  right  with  a  God  whom  we  can- 
not really  know  ;  Mr.  Maurice,  that  the  only  way  we 
can  be  so  kept  right  is  by  a  direct  and,  in  its  highest 
form,  conscious  j)articipation  in  the  very  life  of  God. 

In  attempting  to  discuss,  with  the  helj)  of  our  authors, 
the  true  meaning  and  objects  of  a  divine  Revelation,  we 
shall  not  again  travel  over  the  ground  which  we  have 
before  disputed  with  Mr.  Mansel.  His  position,  that 
the  so-called  laws  of  human  thought  are  'laws'  in  the 
sense  of  arbitrary  lestrictions  on  intellectual  freedom, 
and  not  qualifications  for  real  knowledge  of  any  thing 
deeper  and  wider  than  our  own  n)inds,  we  have  already 
sufficiently  examined.  We  saw  evciy  reason  to  think 
that  the  })henomen{i  which  induced  him  to  despair  of 
our  capacity  for  any  divine  insight  were  phenomena 
inherent  in  all  intelligence,  human  or  divine,  because 
describing  the  very  essence  of  intelligence.*  To  this 
ground,  therefore,  we  shall  not  now  return  ;  but  assum- 
ing at  on;;e  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  essential  char- 
acter  of   human    thought  to   betray   its   own   a-priori 

*  Mr.  Mansel,  in  his  iiuw  profaco,  ruiotos  our  oUscrvation,  that  "  relative 
apprehension  is  iilways  and  necessarily  of  two  terms  t(it;etii(r;  it'  of  sound, 
then  also  of  silence;  if  of  succession,  then  also  of  dnratiou;  if  ol'  the 
finite,  then  also  of  the  inlinite;"  and  replies:  "This  is  true  as  ref,'ar(ls  the 
meaninf^of  the  words,  hut  \>y  no  means  as  rei,'ards  the  eorrespondin;.;  olijeets. 
If  extended  to  the  latter,  it  should  in  consistency  be  asserted  that  the  ioiiecp- 


286  REVEL  VTIOM  ; 

inci)j)acity  for  ventunng  into  every  rei^ion  into  whir'li 
liuniun  wants  force  us  to  gaze,  let  us  take  up  the  ari^i- 
ment  at  once  in  its  direct  bearing  on  our  communion 

lion  of  tliat  wliich  is  conceivable  involves  also  the  conception  of  that  whicli 
18  inconceivaljlc;  that  the  consciousness  of  any  tiiin^^  is  also  the  conscious- 
ness of  nothin;;;  that  the  intuition  oi"  space  and  time  is  likewise  tin;  intuition 
of  the  absence  of  both."  Mr.  MaiiM-i  has  here  sui>plie(l  us  with  an  excellent 
illustration  of  the  truth  of  our  special  i)osition  as  to  Finite  ami  Infinite  Space. 
No  doubt  the  rjenernl  law  of  relative  apprehension,  as  ap|)lied  to  lan^uaj^e, 
would  require  only  that  Ave  should  a|iprehcnd  eipially  the  niaaninjj  of  the 
relative  terms,  and  not  the  corresponding;  oOJects.  To  understand  what  I 
mean  by  "  conceivable,"  I  must  understand  what  I  mean  by  "'  inconceiva- 
ble;" and  perhaps  the  case  of  ''  sound  "  and  ''silence"  is,  as  ap]>licd  to  the 
knowled;j;e  received  by  a  special  sense,  a  discrimination  of  thc'same  kind. 
We  insisted  on  this  universal  law,  that  the  whole  force  of  ajipre/ienxion  really 
consists  in  digcnminntiun,  only  because  Mr.  Mansel  seemed  to  us  to  represent 
this  relativity-  of  human  thouf^ht  as  an  imbecilit}'  re(|uirinj;  apolo<^y  to  tho>e 
liifrher  intelligences  which,  as  he  seems  to  suppose,  can  ai)prehend  all  thiiif^s 
'without  discriniinatiuf;  one  tiling  from  another.  IJut  this  general  relativity 
of  human  api)rehension  was  not  the  main  fact  referred  to  in  the  passa;j:e  from 
which  Mr.  Man.'el  <piotes.  Wc  were  referring  more  particularly  then  to 
g/jtriil  pairs  of  relativo  ap|)re!iensions,  which  are  not  merely  united  together 
in  logical  significance,  but  which,  as  thu.s  united,  carry  witli  thcni  a  convic- 
tion of  objective  reality,  or  in  other  words,  which  carry  belief  In  the  case 
of  "succession"  and  "duration,"  "change"  and  "cause,"  "Finite  .Space" 
and  "Infinite  Space,"  the  tie  is  not  logical,  but  real.  No  one  can  conceive 
"succession  "  without  ]K»stulafing  inlinita  duration,  nor  awake  to  the  con- 
sciousness of  duration  without  an  actual  succession.  No  one  can  think  of 
finite  space  without  postulating  infinite  space,  nor  awake  to  the  conscious- 
ness of  infinite  space  without  an  actual  experience  of  finite  space.  Xo 
one  can  think  of  a  "change"  without  posUilating  a  "  cause,"  nor  ask  for  a 
"cau.se"  without  consciousness  of  a  "change."  The  "conceivable"  and  the 
"  inconceivable"  are  mere  logical  c<)nvlatives,  in  which  neither  term  carries 
any  belief.  "  The<-onceivable  "  is  not  a  district  cut  out  of  a  Wliole  ilescribed 
a.^  "the  inconceivable,"  as  Finite  Space  is  with  res))ect  to  the  Whole  of 
Jniinite  Spj\cc.  The  very  word  "finite"  be.irs  In  itself  testimony  to  the 
positive  meaning  in  infinite,  and  therein  alone  diflers  from  "definite,"  which 
would  be  fully  adeqimte  to  express  all  that  is  expressed  by  "  finite,"  if  there 
Were  no  more  than  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  lay  down  a  limit  —  if  there  were 
not  an  absolute  denial  of  a  limit  —  in  the  word  Infinite.  In  the  special  cases 
referred  to,  then,  the  correlative  is  not  formal  and  logical,  but  a  real  correla- 
tive in  belief.  AVe  must  say  we  cannot  even  understand  what  thinkers  so 
accomplished  as  Sir  \V.  Hamilton  and  Mr.  Mansel  mean  when  they  talk  of 
•'lulinite"  and  "Inlinitesimar'  as  purely  negative  ideas,  implying  onl^ 


WHAT    IT    IS    NOT    AM)    AVIIAT    IT    IS.  287 

with  G(k1,  and  see  wlietlier  Mr.  Man-el  lias  reallv  any 
adcrniate  jxroiiiul  for  the  :iS!Sum}>tion  which  liis  opp:)- 
ncnt,  we  think  truly,  regards  as  de>truftive  of  tlie  \erv 
:?pring  of  faith,  —  tiiat  though  able  to  cunviiice  our- 
selves that  God  does  exist,  tlie  mere  "infinitude"'  of 
his  Nature  renders  it  impossible  for  us  to  hold  converse 
with  Plim.  Passing  as  rapidly  as  may  be  over  these 
somewhat  artifi;M:d  earlier  difficulties,  we  s'nall  reserve 
^Ir.  ^laurice's  hel[)  for  the  more  positive  and  construc- 
tive part  of  our  in(piiry. 

On  what,  then,  d  ;es  Mr.  Mansel  base  his  assump- 
tions? Mainlv  on  this,  that  if  we  really  do  hold  direct 
and  conscious  converse  with  God,  we  should  find  the 
results  of  that  converse,  and  of  aptitude  for  it,  inscri!jed 
on  our  mental  constitution.  ''A  presentative  revelation 
implies  faculties  in  man  which  can  receive  tlie  presenta- 
tion :  and  such  faculties  will  also  furnish  the  conditi  )ns 
of  constructing  a  philosojdiical  theory  of  the  object 
presented."  With  t!ie  first  part  of  this  sentence  every 
one  nmst  agree  ;  if  God  can  I)e  j>resent,  as  we  believe, 
to  the  human  mind,  there  must  be  faculties  in  us  which 
enable  us  to  discern  that  pi-esence.  l>ut  the  latter 
assertion,  that  such  faculties  will  also  enaljle  us  t  >  c  in- 
struct "a  philosophical  theory  of  the  oiyect  presented,*' 

fniurtt  to  tliink.  AInin<t  everj-  one  knows  that  m,ii!iein;itii.-i;ins  pr.niiialiy 
u<c  tliese  itl'-'as.  —  (li^;iii:;iii>liini;  even  between  varin-.u-  •■r'trf  oi  inliiiiti;'. ! 
with  iircunite  result*.  The  nierc-:t  st-hiwiUxiy  kiii'\v<,  :or  iii-t:ui'-c.  that  S3 
infinitely  Mn;ill  lino,  thoiiph  of  couive  inif>oy-;iI»If  to  pii;ti;rf.  is  :i  rciilily.  :•:•.''. 
so  iliiViTent  in  kiml  tVim  a  [»)iiit.  ih:it  it  can  li<-  .-iuwii  t:."nit  trirally  i<i  c.n- 
tain  3*  many  p-iint*  as  tli'/  Ii)iil'<'s:  lini-  in  X.itiir'.  I-  ;!i;-  ;ill  a  Jar^'m  '.vitl;i  ;t 
n!',-;r.i!n:.'.  thoiiu''i  it  is  a  "k-ninnstrdhi.'  i.rtainry  V  A-  a!>|il:  ■  I  in  ••  ;■■  r-oi:.;i- 
tjes."  which  are  niilhi-r  canaljle  ot'  im-n-as^  n.ir  .I'njinu'i^i.i.  tin-  t.rni*  "  inli- 
nite  ■"  and  "  Kiaite  "  have  cither  \m<  nieaniiiu'.  "f  «  lotally  (iifi'.rtnl  k.v:  an  I 
bence  much  ot"  Mr.  ilaiisel's  tonA;.-iou. 


288  REVELATIOX  ; 

seems  to  us  a  most  amnziiiij  and  frratuitous  assertion. 
A  pliilosophieal  theory  is  possible  when  we  stand  above 
our  object,  not  when  we  stand  beneath  it.  The  learner 
lias  fac-ulties  by  which  to  learn  ;  l)iit  if  what  he  studies 
is  inexhaustible,  he  will  never  have  a  "  philosophical 
theory"  of  it.  Principles,  no  d*)iil)t,  he  will  reat^h  ; 
certain  truths  to  mark  his  prouress  he  will  discover  ;  he 
■will  know  that  he  understands  better  and  better  that 
which  he  can  never  comprehend ;  but  a  theory  of  the 
whole  he  can  never  attain  unless  the  whole  be  within 
the  limited  range  of  his  powers.  Ilence  we  entirely 
deny  Mr.  Mansel's  assumption,  that  direct  converse 
with  God  implies  faculties  for  constructing  "  a  theory  " 
of  God.  This  is  the  fundamental  error  of  his  work. 
He  admits  no  knowledge  except  that  which  is  on  a  level 
with  its  object.  Nothing  is  easier  than  to  prove  that  no 
])hnnniet  of  human  Reason  can  nicasiu'e  depths  of  the 
divine  mind  ;  nothing  falser  than  to  suppose  that  this 
incapacity  shuts  us  out  entirely  from  that  Mind,  and 
proves  it  to  be  the  painted  veil  of  "representative 
notions"  of  God,  and  not  God  Himself,  who  has  filled 
our  v<pirlts  in  the  act  of  worship. 

^\'e  hold,  then,  that  this  is  Mr.  Mansel's  first,  and 
perhaj)s  deepest,  error.  He  sees  that  we  have  no 
"  theory  "  of  God  which  is  not  presumptuous  and  self- 
contradictory,  and  he  argues  tlserefrom  that  we  ha\e 
no  knowledge.  Surely  he  might  have  learncnl  bertt'r 
from  the  simplest  facts  of  human  life.  Have  we  any 
"theory"  of  any  human  being  that  will  bear  a  momeni  s 
examination?  Yet  is  our  comnumiitn  with  our  fellow 
men  limited  to  a  consciousncj^s  of  our  own  notions  of 
them  ?     Are  not  "  fixed  ideas  "  of  human  thinos  a  siijn 


WIIXT    IT    IS    NOT    AXD   AVHAT   IT    IS.  289 

of  a  proud  and  meagre  intellect?  Yet  Mr.  Mansel 
pructicnlly  denies  all  knowlcdire  of  divine  things,  except 
knowledge  through  "fixed  ideas."  He  mistakes  that 
which  hides  God  from  us  for  that  which  reveals  Ilim. 
*' Notions,"  "fixed  ideas,"  of  God,  no  doubt,  and  very 
poor  ones  too,  wc  have  in  abundance  ;  but  instead  of 
being  the  media  of  our  knowledge,  they  are  more  often 
the  veil  which  evcr}^  true  moral  experience  has  to  tear 
aside.  When  we  turn  to  Him  with  loving  heart  and 
conscience,  we  find  half  the  crystallized  and  petrified 
ideas,  professing  to  represent  his  attributes,  dissipated 
like  mists  before  the  sun.  To  know  is  not  to  have  a 
notion  which  stands  in  the  place  of  the  true  object,  but 
to  be  in  direct  conununion  with  the  true  object.  And 
this  is  exactly  the  most  possible,  where  theory,  or  com- 
])lete  knowledge,  is  least  possible.  We  know  the 
"  abysmal  deeps  "  of  personality,  but  have  no  theory  of 
them.  We  know  love  and  hatred,  but  have  no  theory 
of  them.  We  know  God  better  than  we  know  our- 
selves, better  than  we  know  any  other  human  being, 
better  than  we  know  either  love  or  hatred  ;  but  have  no 
theory,  simply  because  we  stand  under  and  not  above 
Him.  We  can  recognize  and  learn,  but  never  compre- 
hend. It  is  therefore  idle  to  argue  that  knowing  facul- 
ties imply  the  means  of  "  constructing  a  philosophical 
theory,"  when  every  case  in  which  living  beings  share 
their  life  and  experience  with  us  adds  to  our  knowl- 
edge and  to  our  grasp  of  principles  ;  whereas  we  can 
construct  "  theories "  about  only  the  most  simide  and 
abstract  sciences. 

But  this  point  granted,  Mr.  Mansel  takes  his  next 
stand  in  favor  of  a  merely  "  notional "  theology  on  the 


290  REVELATION  ; 

infinite  nature  of  G(xl.  Admit,  he  snys,  tliat  avc  can* 
not  adequately  comprehend  our  relations  with  finilc 
realities,  still  such  kni)\vled;4e  as  we  have  of"  them  may 
be  direct,  because  our  knowinir^iower  bears  some  defi- 
nite proportion  to  the  object  known.  But  knowIed\i;e 
of  an  infinite  being  should  either  im])ly  or  generate, — 
so  he  reasons,  —  infinite  ideas  in  your  own  intellect. 
Have  you  such  ideas?  If  so,  produce  them.  If  not, 
admit  at  once  thiit  what  knowledge  yt>u  have  of  such 
beiniis  is  not  direct,  not  first-hand  at  all,  but  at  best 
only  by  rcj)resentativc  ideas  —  miniature  cojties  of  the 
Reality  on  an  infinitely  reduced  scnle.  The  object  to 
be  known  is  unlimited ;  the  intellectual  receptacle  a 
very  narrow  cell.  There  can  be  no  room  there  for  that 
which  it  professes  to  hold  ;  if,  therefore,  any  thing  which 
gives  a  real  notion  of  that  object  actually  has  managed 
to  squeeze  in,  it  can  only  be  a  minute  image,  a  faint 
syml)ol,  an  "adaptation"  to  the  poverty  of  huuian 
nature.  Only  a  finite  fraction  of  the  infinite  Reality 
could  be  apprehended  by  a  finite  intelligence  at  best; 
and  tiiat,  of  course,  would  give  far  less  conception  ot 
the  whole  than  a  representative  idea,  reduced  propor- 
tionately in  all  its  parts  to  suit  "the  apprehensive  powers 
of  the  recipient."  Such  is,  as  far  as  we  understand  it, 
the  nature  of  Mr.  Mansel's  oi)jection.  ^' In  whatever 
affection,"  he  says,  "we  become  conscious  of  our  rela- 
tion with  the  Supreme  Being,  we  can  discern  thdt  con- 
scionsnesH  only  hxj  reflecting  on  it  tinder  its  proper 
notion."  Mr.  Mansel  <loes  reflect  on  it,  through  many 
lectures,  under  several  "notions,"  which  he  at  least 
conceives  to  be  "  proper ; "  and  finding  them  all  what 
he  terms  finite,  he  ends  by  telling  us  that  the  human 


WHAT    IT    IS    KOT    AND    AVIIAT    IT    IS.  2LI1 

mind  can  only  ajipveliond  a  finite  type  of  God,  and  yet 
is  compelled  to  believe  that  God  is  infinite  :  whence  he 
argues  we  can  have  no  direct  knowled<;e  of  God  at  all, 
but  can  only  study  a  limited  symbol  of  Him,  which  He 
Himself  has  mercifully  introduced  into  our  minds,  and 
reproduced  in  an  objective  and  more  perfect  form  in  the 
incarnation  of  Christ.  And  if,  still  dissatisfied,  any  one 
surr<rests  to  j\Ir.  ]\Iansel  that  knowledije  of  God,  like 
knowledge  of  human  things,  may  be  partial,  but  yet 
direct,  and  progressive,  in  short,  a  real  and  growing 
union  of  our  mind  witii  his,  —  he  replies  : 

"  The  supposition  refutes  itself:  to  liave  a  pai-tial  knowlediie 
of  an  object  is  to  know  a  part  of  it,  but  iM)t  the  whole.  But 
the  part  of  tlie  inliiiite  whicli  is  supposed  to  Ije  known,  must 
be  itself  eitlier  inliiiite  or  finite.  If  it  is  infinite,  it  presents 
the  same  difficulties  as  before ;  if  it  is  finite,  the  j)oint  in 
question  is  conceded,  and  our  consciousness  is  allowed  to  be 
limited  to  finite  objects.  But  in  truth  it  is  obvious,  on  a 
niomeiU's  reflection,  tliat  neither  the  Absolute  nor  the  Iiifinile 
can  be  represented  in  tiie  form  of  a  Whole  composed  of  parts. 
Not  the  Absolute,  for  the  exi.-!tence  of  tiie  Whole  is  (k^pendent 
on  the  existence  of  its  })arts ;  not  the  Infinite,  fur  if  any  part 
is  Infinite,  it  cannot  be  distinguisht'd  from  the  AV'iiole;  and  if 
eacii  part  is  finite,  no  number  of  such  parts  can  coustitute  the 
infinite." 

Now  what  does  all  this  prove?  This,  and  this  only  : 
that  if  we  tidce  the  words  "Absolute"  and  "Infinite" 
to  mean  that  He  to  whom  they  are  applicable  clioles 
n^  the  universe,  mental  and  physical,  and  prevents  the 
existence  of  every  one  else,  then  it  is  nonsense  and 
clear  contradiction  for  any  one  else,  who  is  conscious  of 
Ills  own  existence,  to  use  these  words  of  God  at  all. 


21)2  KEVELATIOX  ; 

Surely  this  might  have  been  sni<l  witliout  so  much  cir- 
cunih>cution.  And  Avh:it  docs  Mr.  Mansel  thereby 
gain?  Simply,  as  far  sis  we  can  see,  that  he  has  estab- 
lished the  certain  non-existence  uf  any  Being  in  this 
aense  "absolute"  or  "infinite."  Mr.  Mansel  denies 
this,  and  says,  "No,  I  have  only  proved  that  a  phiK>so- 
j)liy  of  the  Absolute  and  Infinite  is  impossible  to  man." 
But  if  we  ask,  Why  n.it  to  God  also,  and  to  ail  rational 
beings  who  do  not  believe  in  any  philosoj)hy  of  self- 
contradictions  and  chimeras?  he  will  imme<liately  turn 
upon  us  and  say,  "Because,  after  all,  you  uuist  admit 
that  there  is  an  'Absolute'  and  an  'Infinite,'  and  that 
those  terms  ought  to  apply  to  God.  It  is  our  iucouj- 
j)etence  to  conceive  that  involves  us  in  all  these  self- 
contradictions.  If  you  are  going  to  deny  the  existence 
of  the  'Absolute'  and  'Infinite,'  you  will  get  into  as 
much  trouble  in  another  direction  as  if  you  admit  and 
try  to  reason  upon  them.  Suppose  there  is  no  Infinite 
and  Absolute,  and  we  must  assume  the  universe  to  be 
made  up  of  finites,  and  to  be  itself  finite  ;  which  is  the 
more  inexplicable  alternative  of  the  two  ?  " 

Now,  in  reply  to  this  rcascming,  we  must  sny  \c:\y 
explicitly  that  it  is  a  mere  playing  fast  and  loose  with 
■words.  Mr.  Mansel  first  wants  the  words  "Infinite" 
and  "Absolute"  to  exclude  all  limitation  or  order  of  all 
sorts.  Every  thing  like  essential  laws  of  mind  or  char- 
acter, —  every  mental  or  moral  condition  or  constitu- 
tion, self-imposed  or  otherwise,  under  which  the  Divine 
mind  could  act,  —  he  calls  a  limitation,  and  excludes 
from  the  meaning  of  the  woixls.  AVhen  he  has  provetl, 
what  is  exceedingly  easy  to  prove  on  such  an  hy[)oth- 
esis,  that  we  can  only  speak  of  the  Infinite  in  self- 


WHAT    IT    IS    NOT    AXI>    WHAT    IT    IS.  293 

contrnilictions.  lie  says,  ''Well,  then,  here  is  an  end  of 
the  A!)8ohite  and  Infinite.  Clearly  we  are  unable  to 
<^r;usj)  thi.s  ;  but  the  only  alternative  is  the  '  relative ' 
and  'finite;'  an  alternative  still  more  inex[)lieablc." 
And  now,  by  "finite,"  we  must  remember,  he  means, 
not  that  which  acts  under  given  conditions,  —  under 
the  limitations,  say,  of  a  Perfect  Nature,  infinitely  rich 
in  creative  power,  though  of  ordered  Creative  Power, 
issuing  fi'om  the  depths  of  an  Eternal  Holiness  and 
Eternal  Reason,  —  but  limited  in  every  direction  ;  con- 
ditioned everywhere,  not  by  the  life-giving  order  of 
Character,  but  by  the  helplessness  of  external  bonds. 
AVe  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  between  unlim- 
ited Infinitude,  understood  in  that  sense  in  which  Mr. 
]\Iansel  professes  to  think  that  less  imbecile  mental  con- 
stitutions than  ours  would  find  no  contradictions,  and 
the  absolutely  cramjied  and  fettered  Finitude,  understood 
in  the  sense  in  which  there  is  no  realm  of  unlimited 
development  and  free  creation  at  all,  —  between  these 
extremes,  we  say,  the  whole  universe  of  mind,  from  the 
Divine  to  the  human,  is  necessarily  comprehended. 
The  one  alternative,  which  Mr.  Mansel  does  not  deign 
to  admit  into  his  religious  dilemma  even  hypothetically, 
—  that  of  judimited  energy,  conditioned  by  dcHnite 
laws,  moral  and  s[)iritual,  —  is  that  which  the  Kevcla- 
tion  of  conscience  and  the  IJevelation  of  history  alike 
reveal  to  us  as  the  actual  stand;u-d  of  perfection. 
The  sense  in  which  the  "Absolute"  xm\  "Infinite''  ai-c 
really  self-coutradit^tory  terms,  is  the  sense  in  which 
we  try  to  make  them  jiroof  against  every  liiuitation  ; 
and  they  are  so  in  that  case  for  the  very  siin[)ie 
reason,  that  the  absence  of  all  pt)siti\c  characteristics 


294  REVELATION  ; 

is,  as  Mr.  Mnnsel  has  himself  admitted,  not  only  oa 
great,  but  really  a  far  greater  limitation  than  the  pres- 
ence of  those  characteristics  would  be.  A  vacuum  is 
certainly  not  limited,  like  a  human  being,  by  any  s[)e- 
cific  mode  of  life  ;  but  it  must  be  said  to  be  still  more 
limited  by  the  absence  of  all  modes  of  life  whatever. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  sense  in  which  the  Conscience 
and  Ixeason  of  man  eagerly  assert  the  reality  of  an  "In- 
finite" and  "Absolute"  Being,  is  not  in  the  least  the 
sense  in  which  they  are  self-contradictory  terms,  ^^'e 
are  forced  to  believe  in  a  being  whose  moral  and  intel- 
lectual constitution  is,  not  vaguer  and  less  orderly,  but 
infinitely  distincter  and  more  rich  in  definite  qualities 
and  characteristics  than  our  own  ;  but  whose  free  Crea- 
tive Energies,  as  determined  by  those  charactei'istics,  are 
infinitely  greater  also.  The  mental  constitution  which 
impresses  Order  on  the  operation  of  Power  is  not,  we 
are  taught  alike  by  conscience  and  inspiration,  a  true 
limitation  on  life,  in  the  sense  of  a  fetter ;  but  is  rather 
in  itself  a  pro[1er  fountain  of  fresh  life,  and  a  con- 
servation of  Power  which  would  otherwise  neutralize 
itself.  Our  incapacity  to  conceive  the  "Infinite"  and 
"Absolute,"  in  the  sense  in  which  they  repudiate  all 
conditions,  turns  out  to  be  a  positive  qualification  for 
conceiving  them  as  names  of  God.  We  want  them  as 
dcscrii^ing  attributes  in  which  we  can  trust,  and  we  can 
only  trust  in  the  attributes  of  a  perfectly  holy,  and 
therefore,  in  some  sense,  defined  Nature. 

We  may  be  fully  satisfied,  then,  as  the  great  revela- 
tion of  all  experience,  that  the  real  fulness  and  per- 
fection of  character  which  we  vainly  strive  to  express 
by  the  word  "  infinite  "  is  not  gained  by  the  absence, 


WHAT    IT    IS    NOT   AND    AVIIAT    IT    IS.  295 

but  by  the  expansion  and  deepening,  of  those  defined 
moral  qualities  which  Mr.  Mansel  wants  to  persuade 
us  are  to  be  considered  mere  limitations  of  natin-e. 
When,  for  instance,  he  applies  the  word  "  infinite,"  in  its 
physical  sense,  to  the  divine  personality,  and  asks  if  it 
does  not  exclude  all  other  beings,  because  any  other 
really  free  will  must  impose  a  limit  on  the  operation  of 
the  divine  will, — ■  we  ask  if  there  would  not  be  far 
dee[)er  limitation  in  the  denial  to  God  of  the  possibility 
of  that  divine  love  which  can  exercise  itself  only  on 
free  wills.  That  only  can  be  considered  a  real  limita- 
tion whicli  chokes  the  springs  of  spiritual  life  ;  and  all 
self-imposed  limitation  on  absolute  power  which  is  the 
condition  of  a  real  exercise  of  the  spiritual  or  liigher 
springs  of  life  is  the  reverse  of  real  limitation.  This  is 
the  lesson  of  every  humiui  responsibility.  Is  not  every 
new  duty,  social  or  moral,  a  limitation  of  some  kind 
—  an  obligation  to  others  which  at  least  in  some  direc- 
tion appears  to  impose  a  limit  on  us,  and  yet  which 
enlarges  the  whole  sc()[)e  of  our  nature?  And  is  it  not 
crpially  clear  that  a  divine  solitude  would  be  more  lim- 
ited by  the  necessity  of  solitude,  tlian  by  the  freedom 
of  the  beings  who  arc  learning  to  share  the  divine 
life? 

Mr.  Mansel  will  say  tiiat  all  this  is  playing  into 
his  hands.  He  had  desired  to  persuade  us  that  all 
direct  knowledge  of  God  was  impossil)le,  because  we 
cannot  tell  what  is  limitation  and  what  is  not ;  in  other 
words,  we  can  form  no  adequate  "  conception "  ol 
fulness  or  perfection  of  life.  What  seems  to  us  limi- 
tation, may  be,  not  limitation,  but  a  mode  of  divine 
power  ;   what   we   reverently   think   of   as   belonging  to 


29G  REVELATION  ; 

God  because  it  is  included  in  our  notion  of  power,  may 
not  really  belong  to  Him,  but  be,  in  fact,  a  luuuan 
limitation.  Assiu*edly  tliis  is  so.  We  have  already 
.Klmitted  that  if  adequate  or  exhaustive  notions,  not 
of  God  only,  but  of  any  livuig  being,  were  needful  to 
us  for  direct  knowledge,  we  should  have  no  direct 
knowledge  of  life  at  all.  But  we  have  been  protesting 
against  Mr.  Mansel,  not  for  saying  that  we  have  no 
adequate  conception  of  (fod,  i)ut  for  saying  that  we 
cannot  be  conscious  of  his  i)rcscnce  with  us,  conscious 
of  the  life  we  do  receive  from  Him,  conscious  of  what 
He  really  is,  in  the  same,  indeed  even  in  a  far  higher, 
sense  than  that  in  wliich  we  are  consciojis  of  what 
human  beings  are.  We  cannot  tell  whether  this  or 
that  would  i)e  a  limitation  on  the  divine  essence ;  but 
v.e  can  tell  wiiether  love  and  righteousness  and  power 
fl  iw  from  Him  into  us.  Does  this  give  us  no  knoicl- 
edge  of  God?  Docs  this  give  us  no  comnnmion  with 
Him  ?  "  No,"  says  Mr.  Mausel  ;  "  for  '  love,'  and  '  riglit- 
eousncss,'  and  'power,'  can  be  received  into  your  minda 
oidy  in  finite  parcels,  which  give  no  a|)pro\imation  to 
a  knowledge  of  their  infinite  fountain."  Here,  again, 
we  come  upon  that  delusive  and  ])ositive  use  of  the 
word  ''infinite"  which,  in  spite  of  Mr.  Mansel's  protest 
that  "  infinite "  has  only  a  negative  meaning,  runs 
through  his  whole  book.  He  says  we  do  not  know 
what  "  infinite"  means,  and  tlierefore  caiuiot  know  that 
the  "finite"  is  like  the  "infinite."  We  know  Crod's 
love,  and  are  obliged  to  believe  that  it  is  immeasurably 
deeper  than  we  can  know  ;  and  Mr.  Mansel  wishes  to 
persuade  us  that  this  last  faith  may  change  tlie  whole 
meaning   of  the   first,  tiial    the  very  depth   and   truth 


WHAT    IT    IS    NOT    AND    WHAT    IT    IS.  29? 

which  we  assert  ourselves  unable  to  o'.auirc  ou<iht  to  be 
a  soui'ce  of  doubt  whether  we  know  the  reality  at  all. 
A  life  comes  into  a  man,  the  depths  of  which  he  cannot 
sound ;  and  his  very  conviction  that  he  has  not  the 
capacity  to  comprehend  its  fulness  is  to  empty  it  of  all 
defined  meaning- 1  Surely  Mr.  Mansel  must  see  that 
"  infinite  "  is  a  mere  hollow  word  when  used  in  this 
way.  The  conviction  we  express  by  that  word  is  sim- 
ply that  what  we  know  to  be  restraints  on  our  hig"hest 
and  fullest  life  do  not  exist  in  God ;  but  this  conviction, 
instead  of  leading  us  to  fear  that  righteousness  and 
love  change  their  nature  in  Him  because  He  is  "  infi- 
nite," fills  us  with  certainty  that  they  do  not.  In  short, 
righteousness  and  love  are  qualities  which,  if  we  are 
competent  to  know  them  really  at  all  in  any  single  act 
of  God's,  we  know  to  be  the  same  in  all  acts  ;  and  all 
that  we  mean  by  calling  them  infinite  is,  that  we  have 
more  and  more  to  learn  about  them  for  ever,  wiiich  will 
not  change  and  weaken,  but  confirm  and  deepen,  the 
truth  gained  in  every  previous  act  of  our  knowledge. 
M.  Mansel's  notion,  that  because  our  knowing  capacity 
is  limited  and  God  inexhaustil)le,  we  can  never  know 
directly  more  than  such  a  fraction  of  his  nature  as 
would  be  rather  a  mockery  than  a  personal  revelation, 
is  a  mere  physical  metaphor.  Our  capacity  for  know- 
ing may  be  limited  either  so  that  partial  knowledge  is 
delimive  (as  of  one  corner  of  a  figure)  if  taken  for  the 
whole  ;  or  so  only  that  it  is  true  in  kind,  and  extends  to 
the  whole,  but  utterly  inadecpiate  in  de|)th.  Tlie  latter 
is  of  course  true  of  all  direct  knowledge  of  a  person- 
ality, which  we  know  to  be  one  and  indivisible.  What 
we  do   not   know  is,  then,   mainly,   the   inuneasurable 


298  REVELATION  ; 

range  and  inexhaustible  depth  of  that  which  in  a  single 
act  we  do  know.  Or  if  there  be  other  characteristics 
as  yet  wholly  unknown,  we  know  them  to  be  in  har- 
mony, because  belonging  to  the  same  perfect  person- 
ality with  thoic  we  do  know. 

In  brief,  we  may  sum  up  our  differences  with  Mr. 
Mansel  on  this  head  by  saying,  that  if  "  infinite  "  is  to 
mean  the  exclusion  of  all  definiteness  of  nature  and  char- 
acter, —  then  we  do  know,  and  he  himself  admits  that 
it  has  no  application  to  God,  if  only  because  it  would 
itself  be  a  far  greater  limitation  than  that  which  it 
excluded ;  that  if,  on  the  other  hand,  it  be  admitted  to 
be  consistent  with  a  defined  character  and  constitution, 
and  to  mean  rather  "perfect,"  —  then  that  we  certainly 
have  not  an  abstract  idea  of  what  this  is,  but  have  posi- 
tive faculties  for  gradual  conscious  recognition  of  such 
a  Perfect  being  when  manifested  to  our  Conscience  iind 
lleason,  and  an  inextinguishable  faith  in  his  perfection 
even  as  unmanifested.  Finally,  that  if  it  be  main- 
tained that  what  we  can  thus  recognize  is  as  nothinsr 
when  compared  with  what  is  beyond  our  vision,  we 
may  admit  it,  provided  only  that  what  we  do  know  is 
direct  knowledge,  and  knowledge  of  God,  not  of  a  part 
of  God ;  and  that  it  carries  with  it  not  merely  a  ho[)e, 
but  a  certainty,  that  the  inexhaustililc  depths  still  unre- 
vealed  will  only  deepen  and  extend,  instead  of  falsity- 
inj;,   that  knowledge  at  which  we  have  arrived. 

We  have  dwelt  somewhat  long  on  what  seem  to  us 
the  most  transparent  sophisms,  because  it  is  on  them 
that  Mr.  Mansel  relies  for  his  assertion  that  our  knowl- 
edge of  God  cannot  be  direct ;  that  lievelation  cannot 
reveal  Him,  but  only  a  finite  type  of  Him,  more  or  less 


WHAT    IT    IS    NOT    AND    WHAT    IT    IS.  21)9 

'lifFercnt  from  tlie  reality  —  lu)\v  different  no  one  can 
dare  to  say.  Such  a  position  destroys  all  interest  in 
the  Revelation  when  it  comes.  If  it  be  only  a  working 
hypothesis,  to  keep  us,  while  confined  in  the  human, 
from  blindly  and  unconsciously  dashing  ourselves  against 
the  laws  of  the  divine  ;  if  it  merely  says,  "  Take  this 
chart,  which  necessarily  alters  the  infinite  infinitely  to 
n»ake  it  finite  ;  but  nevertheless,  if  you  steer  by  it,  it 
will  save  you  as  much  from  the  rocks  as  if  it  were 
true,"  —  we  do  not  believe  any  body  would  care  nuich 
for  Revelation  at  all.  We  should  say,  "Show  us  fresh 
realities,  and  whether  they  be  finite  or  infinite,  we  will 
attend ;  but  as  for  these  magical  clues,  which  only 
promise  to  keep  us  right,  without  showing  us  how  or 
why,  we  would  rather  be  wrecked  against  one  really 
discovered  rock,  we  woukl  rather  founder  in  the  attempt 
to  sound  on  our  own  '  dim  and  perilous  way,'  than  be 
constantly  obeying  directions  which  are  mere  acconnno- 
dations  to  our  ignorance,  and  which  will  leave  us,  even  if 
we  obey  them  strictly  and  reach  the  end  of  our  voyage 
in  safety,  as  ignorant  of  the  real  world  around  us  as 
when  we  began  it."  Yet  Mr.  Mansel's  great  plea  for 
Revelatiim,  as  he  understands  it,  is,  that  it  provides  us 
with  regnlatioe  though  not  with  specuhilive  truth, — 
that  it  gives  us  wise  advice,  the  wisdom  of  which  we 
can  test  by  experience  ;  though  furnishing  nothing  but 
guesses  at  the  true  grounds  of  that  advice. 

Now  if  any  one  is  disposed  to  admire  the  apparent 
modesty  of  this  conclusion,  and  to  ac((uiesce  in  it  as  the 
true  humility  of  mature  wisdom,  he  will  do  well  to  study 
in  Mr.  Maurice's  pnjfound  volume  the  evidence  that 
every  living   movement  of   human   thought,   relujioHA 


300  REVELATION ; 

or  of/ienrt'se,  cries  out  njjainst  it.  All  rcjnilativo  truth, 
all  truth,  thiJt  is,  which  has  a  deep  influence  on  hinnnn 
action,  all  truth  in  which  men  trust,  is  founded  in  the 
discovery  of  ultimate  causes,  not  of  empirical  rules. 
The  distrust  of  empirical  rules  in  science,  in  art,  in 
morals,  in  theology,  is  all  of  the  same  root.  It  may 
be  safest  to  act  on  probabilities  where  there  is  no  cer- 
tainty ;  to  act  by  empirical  rule  where  the  |)rinci[)le  of 
the  rule  is  undiscovered  ;  to  follow  a  plausible  authority 
where  there  is  no  satisfying  truth  ;  and  by  such  rules, 
no  doubt,  in  the  absence  of  all  temptation  to  disre- 
gavd  them,  men  are  occasionally  guided  when  they 
cannot  reach  any  basis  of  fact.  But,  as  Mr.  Maurice 
very  powerfidly  insists,  there  is  no  single  region  of  life 
in  which  these  "  regulative"  and  ai)proximate  generali- 
ties exercise  any  transforming  influence  on  the  mind. 
The  smallest  probability  will  outweigh  the  greatest  if 
it  fall  in  with  our  wishes ;  the  empirical  rule  sud- 
denly appears  specially  inapplicable  to  the  exceptional 
case  in  which  it  becomes  inconvenient.  The  plausible 
authority  is  disputable  where  its  recommendations  are 
irritating  or  [)ainful.  It  is  quite  different  where  we 
have  reached  a  fresh  certainty,  a  new  cause,  a  new 
force,  a  new  and  self-sustaining  truth,  a  new  fountain 
of  actual  life.  Actual  things  and  persons  we  cannot 
ignore;  we  may  struggle  with  or  defy  them,  but  we 
cannot  forget  to  take  them  into  account.  For  the 
lottery-prize  we  will  pay  far  more  than  it  is  worth, 
the  numlx^r  of  blanks  scarcely  affecting  the  imagina- 
tion ;  the  danger  of  detection  never  checks  the  bona- 
fide  injpulse  to  crime ;  a  single  certain  suffering  whicrh 
will  be  independent  of  success  or  failure,  —  the  anguish 


WHAT    IT    IS    NOT    AND    AVHAT    IT   IS  301 

of  conscience,  wliicli  success  rather  intensifies,  —  will 
outweigh  it  all.  Exactly  in  })roportion  to  the  exclusion 
of  hypothetical  and  the  presence  of  known  and  tested 
elements  is  the  really  "  regulative"  infiuence  exerted  on 
the  human  will.  Believe  with  Mr.  Mansel  that  Reve- 
lation gives  us  a  more  or  less  true  notion  of  God,  and 
it  will  ce;ise  to  kindle  us  at  all.  Recognize  in  it  with 
]Mr.  Maurice  the  direct  manifestation  of  God  to  the 
Conscience,  and  the  life  thus  manifested  will  haunt  us 
into  war,  if  it  do  not  fill  us  with  its  peace.  If  faith 
give  no  certainty,  it  is  not  "  regulative,"  but  itself  spec- 
ulative ;  if  it  does  not  satisfy  the  reason,  it  cannot 
overawe  the  will.  Mr.  Mansel  a[)pears  to  regard  the 
phrase  "  satisfying  to  the  reason "  as  applying  to  that 
sort  of  knowledge  which  can  answer  every  query  of 
human  curiosity.  He  tells  us  that  the  influence  of  mind 
on  matter  is  a  regulative  truth,  of  which  we  cannot 
give  the  least  account,  —  and  not,  therefore,  satisfsing 
to  the  Reason.  In  this  sense,  clearly,  no  living  influ- 
ence in  the  universe  is  satisfying  to  the  reason  ;  for  we 
cannot  reason  any  thing  into  life.  But  this  is  a  totally 
different  sense  from  that  in  which  he  invites  us  to  siu- 
render  our  desire  for  a  reasonable  knowledge  of  God, 
as  distinguished  from  a  regulative  message  from  Him. 
Reason  in  the  highest  sense  does  not  pursue  its  ques- 
tions beyond  the  point  of  discriminating  between  a  real 
and  permanent  cause  or  substance,  and  a  dcj)endent 
consequence  or  a  variable  phenomenon.  It  asks  "  why" 
only  till  it  has  reached  something  which  can  justify  its 
own  existence,  and  theie  it  stops.  True  Reason  is 
sutisjied  when  it  has  traced  the  stream  of  efiect  up  to 
u  living  Origin,  and  discrinunuted  the   nature  of  that 


302  REVELATION ; 

Origin.  It  is  not  the  impulse  of  Reason,  but,  as  Mr. 
M.iurice  has  finely  said,  the  disease  of  nationalism, 
%vhich  continues  to  make  us  restless  questioners  in  the 
presence  of  those  living  Objects  which  ought  to  fill 
and  satisfy  the  Reason, — inducing  us  to  ask  for  a 
reason  deeper  than  Beauty  before  we  can  admire,  for 
a  reason  deeper  than  Truth  before  we  can  believe, 
for  a  reason  deeper  than  Holiness  before  we  can  love, 
trust,  and  obey.  But  no  true  Reason  is,  or  ought  to 
be,  satisfied  with  an  echo,  a  type,  a  symbol,  of  some- 
thing higher  which  it  cannot  reach.  If  it  find  transitory 
beauty  in  the  type,  it  turns  by  its  own  law  to  gaze  on 
the  Eternal  beauty  beneath  ;  if  it  find  broken  music 
in  the  echo,  it  yearns  after  the  })erfect  harmony  which 
roused  the  echo.  Reason  might  be  defined  to  be  that 
whiclt  leads  us  to  distinguish  the  sign  from  the  thing 
signified,  —  which  leads  us  back  from  the  rule  to  the 
principle,  from  the  principle  to  the  purpose,  from 
the  purpose  to  the  living  character  in  which  it  origi- 
n.atcd,  —  which,  in  short,  will  not  be  satisfied  with  any 
imajie,  but  cries  after  the  Oriijinal. 

If  this  be  Reason,  then,  to  satisfy  Reason  is  to  find 
out  truly  regulative  truth  ;  for  what  is  it  which,  in  the 
passion  and  fever  of  life,  truly  transforms  and  chastens 
human  purposes?  Surely  nothing  but  the  knowledge 
of  realities, — sensible  realities  more  than  spiritual 
abstractions,  —  spiritual  realities  most  of  all :  mere 
things  painful  or  delightful  far  more  than  any  abstract 
ideas  ;  men  far  more  than  things  ;  men  present  more 
than  men  absent ;  but  men  absent  more  than  the  dream 
of  an  absent  God,  because  we  have  lost  our  faith  in 
God  altogether  when   we    have    lost   our  faith   in   his 


WHAT    IT    IS    NOT    A\D    M'lIAT    IT    IS.  303 

direct  presence  with  us.  We  need  scarcely  take  more 
tlian  one  example  of  what  Mr.  Mansel  calls  i*egulative 
moral  triitii.  It  will  be  quite  sufficient  to  test  the 
utterly  hollow  and  unregulative  character  of  the  gospel 
whicii  he  can  alone  deliver  to  his  disciples.  Pie  tells  us 
that  our  human  morality,  like  our  human  objects  of 
faith,  is  an  adaptation  to  our  condition;  though  it 
surely  uuist  resemble,  with  quite  inconceivable  differ- 
ences, the  divine  morality  from  which  it  has  been 
epitomized  for  us.  What  is  his  illustration?  One  so 
extraordinary,  that  it  is  difficult  to  believe  he  was  not 
trying  to  prove  that  such  reduced  and  "  adapted  "  rules 
and  ty[)es  can  have  no  regulative  influence  on  the 
human  will.  He  is  arguing  that  there  is  not,  and  can- 
not  be,  "a  perfect  identity,"  or  even  "exact  resem- 
blances" between  the  morality  of  God  and  man,  — that 
actions  may  be  "compatible  with  the  boundless  good- 
ness of  God  which  are  incompatible  with  the  little 
goodness  of  which  man  may  be  conscious  in  himself." 
The  case  he  takes  is  the  duty  of  human  forgiveness. 
It  is  the  duty  of  man,  he  says,  to  forgive  uncondition- 
ally a  repented  sin.  People  who  argue  that  God 
cannot  be  less  good  than  man,  assume  that  God  nuist 
do  likewise.  The  fallacy  lies,  he  maintains,  in  forget- 
ting that  the  finite  form  of  human  duty  essentially  alters 
the  moral  standard  in  the  mind  of  God.  This  he 
proves  as  follows  : 

"It  is  obvious,  indeed,  on  a  moment's  refloctinii.  that  tlu; 
duty  of  man  to  forgive  the  trespasses  of  Iiis  iiei^^hhor  ivsis 
precisely  upon  those  features  of  luunau  nature  which  cannot 
by  any  analogy  be  regarded  as  repirseiUing  an  image  of  God. 
Man  is  not  the  author  of  the  moral  law ;  he  is  not,  as  mau, 


#304  REVELATION ; 

the  moral  governor  of  his  fellows;  Ik^  lias  no  autliorily,merely 
as  mail,  to  punish  moral  ti-au3gressious  as  such.  It  is  not  as 
sin,  but  as  injury,  that  vice  is  a  transgression  against  man  ;  it 
is  not  that  his  holiness  is  outraged,  bid  that  his  rights  or  his 
interests  are  impaired.  The  duty  of  forgiveness  is  imposed 
as  a  check,  not  upon  the  justice,  but  upon  the  selfishness  of 
man ;  it  is  not  designed  to  extinguish  his  indignation  against 
vice,  but  to  restrain  his  tendency  to  exaggerate  his  own  per- 
sonal injuries.  The  reasoner,  who  maintains  '  it  is  a  duty  in 
man  to  forgive  sins,  therefore  it  must  be  morally  fitting  for  God 
to  forgive  tliem  also,'  overlooks  the  fact  that  this  duty  is  binding 
on  man  on  account  of  the  weakness,  and  ignorance,  and  sinful- 
7iess  of  his  nature:  that  he  is  bound  to  forgive  as  one  wiio 
himself  needs  forgiveness;  as  one  whose  weakness  renders 
him  liable  to  suffering;  as  one  whose  self-love  is  ever  ready 
to  arouse  his  passions  and  pervert  his  judgment." 

Wc  scarcely  ever  met  with  a  passage  in  any  thouglit- 
ful  writer  which  seems  to  us  to  contain  deeper  and 
more  disastrous  misreadings  of  moral,  to  say  nothing 
of  Christian  truth,  than  this.  To  us  the  profound  and 
deadly  falsehood  lies  exactly  in  that  which  constitutes 
its  value  to  Mr.  Manscl  —  the  assumption  that  man's 
duty  to  forgive  is  not  grounded  in  his  likeness,  but  in  his 
unlikeness,  to  God.  But  it  is  not  to  this  point  we  wish 
to  call  attention,  but  to  the  worth  of  such  a  truth  as 
regards  its  power  to  regulate  human  conduct.  If  there 
be  anywhere  a  duty  hard  of  performance,  it  is  the 
duty  of  human  forgiveness.  If  there  be  one  which 
the  ordinary  nature  of  man  s[)urns  as  humiliating,  and 
almost  as  a  wrong  to  his  whole  mind,  it  is  that  duty. 
Ground  it  in  the  very  nature  of  God,  in  the  holy  living 
will  which,  ever  close  to  us,  ever  able  to  crush,  is  ever 
receiving  fresh  injury,  and  yet,  cvcu  in  inflicting  the 


WHAT    IT   IS    NOT    AND    WHAT    IT    IS.  305 

Bupcrnatural  anguisli  of  divine  jud^iiiient,  is  ever  offer- 
ing anew  both  the  invitation  and  tlie  power  to  repent, 
—  and  you  open  the  spirit  to  a  reahty  which  cannot  but 
awe  and  may  melt  it,  in  the  liour  of  trial.  ]>ut  ground 
it  with  Mr.  Mansel  on  the  old,  worn-out,  lax  sort  of 
charity  which  is  indulgent  to  others  because  it  is  weak 
itself,  and  it  will  be  the  least  regulati\e,  we  suspect, 
of  I'egulative  duties.  Mv.  Maiu'ice's  exposure  of  the 
•lollowness  of  this  foundation  is  too  fine  to  omit : 

"'The  duty  of  foririvcness  is  bindiiifj  upon  man  on  account 
of  the  weakness  and  ignorance  and  sinfuhiess  of  his  nature.' 
But  wliat  if  the  weakness,  ignorance,  and  sinfulness  of  my 
nature  dispose  me  not  to  foi-give  ?  What  if  one  princi|)al 
sign  of  this  we.ikncss,  ignorance,  sinfuhiess  of  my  nature  is, 
that  I  am  unforgiving?  What  if  the  more  weak,  ignorant, 
and  sinful  ray  nature  is,  the  more  impossible  forgiveness 
becomes  to  me,  the  more  disposed  I  am.  to  resent  every  injury, 
and  to  take  the  most  violent  meaus  fur  avenging  it?  It  is  my 
duty  to  forgive,  because  I  am  '  one  wliose  self-will  is  ever  ready 
to  arouse  his  passions  and  pervert  liis  judgment.'  To  arouse 
my  passions;  to  what?  To  any  tiling  so  much  as  to  acts  of 
revenge  ?  To  pervert  my  judgment ;  how  ?  In  any  way  so 
much  as  by  making  me  think  tiiat  I  am  right  and  other  men 
wrouir,  and  that  I  may  vindicate  mv  riitlit  ajininst  their  wron^? 
And  this  is  the  basis  of  the  duty  of  forgiveness!  The  temper 
which  inclines  me  at  every  moment  to  trample  upon  tliat 
duty,  to  do  what  it  forbids  !  The  obvious  conclusion,  then, 
has  some  obvious  dilficulties.  Obvious  indeed  !  They  meet 
us  at  every  step  of  our  way  ;  they  :u'e  i/ic  dilHculties  in  our 
moral  progress.  Forgiveness  is  '  to  be  a  check  on  the  selli>h- 
ness  of  man.'  Where  docs  he  get  the  clu'ck  ?  Froui  his 
,;el(islmes3.  It  is  the  old,  miserable,  hopeless  circle.  I  am  to 
j)crsuade    myself  by  certain  arguments  not  to  do  the  thing 


30rt  REVELATION  ; 

which  I  am  inclined  to  do.  But  the  in^-lination  remains  as 
strong  as  ever;  bursts  down  all  the  niiid  lortiHcntions  thnt 
are  built  to  confine  it;  or  else  remains  witiiin  tlie  heart,  a 
worm  destroying  it,  a  fire  consuming  it.  Whence,  O  whence, 
is  this  forgiveness  from  the  heart  to  come,  which  I  cry  for? 
Is  it  impossible  ?  Am  1  to  check  my  selfishness  by  cerlain 
rules  about  tlie  propriety  of  abstaining  from  acts  of  unfor- 
giving ferocity?  God  have  mercy  upon  those  who  have  only 
such  rules,  iu  a  sii'ge  or  a  shipwreck,  when  social  bonds  are 
dissolved,  when  they  are  left  to  themselves !  All  men  have 
declared  that  forgiveness,  real  forgiveness,  is  710'.  impossilile. 
And  we  have  felt  that  it  is  not  impossible,  because  it  dwells 
somewhere  in  beings  above  man,  and  is  shown  by  tliem,  and 
comes  down  as  tiie  highest  gift  from  them  upon  mau.  .  .  . 
And  whenever  the  idea  of  Forgiveness  has  been  severed 
from  this  root,  —  whenever  the  strong  conviction  that  we  are 
warring  against  the  nature  of  God  and  assuming  the  nature 
of  the  Devil  by  an  unforgiving  temper  has  given  place  to  u 
sentimental  feeling  that  we  are  all  siiuiers,  and  siioidd  be 
tolerant  of  each  other,  —  then  has  come  that  weakness  and 
effeminacy  over  Christian  society,  that  dread  of  punishing, 
that  unwillingness  to  exercise  the  severe  functions  of  tlie 
Kuler  and  the  King,  which  has  driven  the  wise  back  upon 
older  and  sterner  lessons,  has  made  them  think  the  vigor  of 
the  Jew  in  putting  down  abominations,  the  self-assertions 
of  the  Grei-k  in  behalf  of  freedom,  were  maidier  than  the 
endurance  and  compassion  of  the  Christians.  Which  I  shouM 
think  too,  if,  referring  the  endurance  and  comi)assinii  to  Ji 
divine  standard,  I  did  not  find  in  that  standard  a  justifiaUion 
of  all  which  was  brave  and  noble  in  the  Jewish  protest 
against  evil,  in  the  Greek  protest  against  tyranny.  Submis- 
sion or  Compassion,  turned  into  mere  qualities  which  wc  are 
to  exalt  and  boast  of  as  characteristic  of  our  religion,  become 
little  else  than  the  ne<:ations  of  Courage  and  Justice.  Con- 
templated as  the  reflections  of  that    Eternal   Goodness  aud 


WHAT    IT   IS    NOT    AND    WHAT    IT    IS.  80/ 

Truth  wliicli  were  manifested  in  Christ,  as  enei-n;ie3  proc^ct'il- 
ing  from  him  and  califd  forth  by  his  Spirit,  —  .submission  to 
personal  slights  and  injuries,  the  compassion  for  every  one 
who  is  out  of  the  way,  —  become  instruments  in  the  vindi- 
cation of  Justice  and  Right,  and  of  tliat  Love  in  th-^  fires  of 
which  all  selHshness  is  to  be  consumed." 

We  have  done  our  best  to  explain  wliy  we  utterly 
disavow  Mr.  Mansel's  interpretation  of  Revelation,  as 
ji  message  intended  to  regulate  Jiuman  practice  without 
unrolding  the  realities  of  the  divine  mind.  It  is  a  less 
easy  task,  but  not  less  a  duty,  on  the  part  of  those  who 
are  gravely  sensible  of  the  emptiness  of  such  an  inter- 
pretation, to  give  some  expositi  )n  of  the  deej)er  mean- 
ing which  the  fact  of  revel:iti:)n  assumes  to  tiieir  own 
minds.  We  hold  that  it  is  an  unveiling  of  the  very 
character  and  life  of  the  eternal  God  ;  and  an  unveiling, 
of  course,  to  a  nature  wliich  is  capable  of  beh  )l(Hug 
Ilim.  It  is  not,  in  our  belief,  an  overclouding  of 
divine  light  to  suit  it  for  the  diumess  of  luuuan  visi;)n, 
but  a  [)urification  of  human  vision  from  the  weakness 
and  disease  which  render  it  lia!)le  to  be  dazzled  and 
blinded  by  the  divine  light.  It  is,  in  short,  the  history 
of  the  awakening,  purifying,  and  answering,  of  the 
vearninirs  of  the  luuuan  spirit  for  a  direct  knowdcdije  of 
Iliui.  It  proceeds  from  (Jod,  and  not  from  man.  The 
cloud  which  is  on  the  human  heart  and  Reason  can 
only  be  gradually  dispersed  by  the  divine  love ;  no 
restless  straining  of  turbid  human  aspiration  can  wring 
from  the  silent  skies  that  knowledge  which  yet  e\ery 
hiunan  being  is  formed  to  attain.  Coming  from  God, 
this  method,  this  "  education  of  the  human  race,"  as 
Lessing    truly  termed    Revelation,   has    been    unfolded 


308  KEVELATION  ; 

with  the  unfohling  capacity  of  tlic  creatines  lie  was 
educating  to  know  Iliiu.  Its  si'jnificaiice  cannot  he 
conjined  to  any  special  series  of  hititorical  facts  ;  but 
it  is  clear  that  the  Divine  government  of  the  Jewish 
race  was  meant  to  bring  out,  and  did  bring  out,  more 
distinctly  the  personality  of  God,  while  the  history  of 
other  races  briiijis  out  more  clearly  the  divine  canaci- 
tics  of  ujan.  Hence  the  co-operation  of  different  nations 
was  requisite  for  the  fulfilment  of  the  Revelation. 
Centuries  were  required  for  the  com[)lete  evolution  even 
of  that  special  Jewish  history  that  was  selected  to 
testify  to  the  righteous  will  and  defined  spiritual  char- 
acter of  the  Creator.  Centuries  on  centuries  will  be 
requh'cd  to  discii)line  fully  the  human  faculties  that  are 
to  grow  into  the  faith  thus  prepared  for  thciu.  The 
i^lindness  of  the  greatest  men,  of  the  highest  races,  of 
wide  continents,  cannot  shake  our  faith  that  this  pur- 
])ose  will  be  fulfilled ;  for  the  term  of  an  earthly  life  is 
adequate  at  best  for  its  conscious  comnien{;ement,  and 
only  under  special  conditions  even  for  that ;  nor  are 
there  wanting  indications  that  both  in  the  case  of  men 
and  nations  the  longest  training  and  the  drcaiiest 
periods  of  abeyance  of  spiritual  life,  arc  often  prepa- 
rations for  its  fullest  growth.  By  tedious  discipline, 
by  slow  Providence,  by  inspirations  addressed  to  the 
seeking  intellect  of  the  philosopher,  to  the  yearning 
imagination  of  the  poet,  to  the  ardent  piety  of  the 
])rophet,  to  the  common  reason  and  conscience  of  all 
men,  and  by  the  fulfilment  of  all  wisdom  in  the  Son  of 
God's  life  on  earth,  has  the  Divine  Spirit  sought  to 
drive  away  the  mists  that  dim  our  hiunan  vision. 
Through  its  wants  and  powers  alike  human  nature  has 


WHAT    IT    IS    NOT    AND    WHAT    IT    IS.  309 

been  taught  to  know  God.  '  Its  every  power  lias  been 
haunted  by  a  want  till  the  power  was  referred  to  its 
divine  source,  its  very  wants  have  become  powers  when 
they  have  turned  to  their  divine  object.  If  this,  then, 
and  nothing  short  of  this,  be  Revelation,  a  living  and 
direct  unfolding  of  that  divine  mind  in  which,  whether 
we  recognize  it  or  not,  we  "live  and  move  and  have 
our  being,"  —  an  eternal  growth  in  our  knowledge  of 
the  eternal  Life,  —  we  ought  not  to  rest  satisfied  with 
showing  that  Mr.  ]\Iansers  reasons  for  disputing  the 
possibility  of  such  a  wonderful  truth  are  unsound,  —  we 
ought  also  to  show  by  what  criteria  we  judge  that  this 
is  the  actual  fact,  the  great  reality,  on  which  all  our 
love  of  truth  and  knowledge  rests. 

The  first  stage  in  any  revelation  must  be,  one  would 
suppose,  the  diiwniag  knowledge  that  there  is  a  veil 
"on  the  heart"  of  man,  and  that  there  is  a  life  uninani- 
fested  behind  it.  In  Mr.  Mansel's,  as  in  our  view, 
this  is  a  knowlege  which  can  be  gained  by  man  ;  but 
he  makes  it  the  final  triumph  of  humnn  faith  and 
philosophy  to  recognize  and  acquiesce  in  it ;  while  we 
hold  it  to  be  the  very  first  lesson  of  the  personal 
conscience,  the  very  first  purpose  of  that  external 
discipline  which  was  intended  to  engrave  the  Divine 
personality  on  Jewish  history,  to  teach  that  such  a 
cloud  may  ever  threaten  the  mind  and  conscience,  but 
that  it  can  be  dispersed. 

What,  indeed,  is  the  first  lesson  of  the  human  con- 
science, the  first  truth  impressed  upon  the  Jewl.sli 
nation,  but  this,  that  a  presence  besets  man  behind  and 
before,  which  he  cannot  evade,  and  which  is  ever  giving 
new  meanings  to  his  thoughts,  new  direction    to   hia 


810  KEVEL.VTION  ; 

Slims,  new  depth  to  his  hopes,  new  tenor  to  his  sins? 
Where,  then,  if  this  haunting  Presence  be  so  overpow- 
ering, if  it  follow  us  as  it  foHowod  tiie  deepest  minds 
among  the  Jewish  people,  till  it  seem  almost  intolerable, 
—  where  is  the  darkness  and  the  veil  which  Revelation 
implies?  Just  in  the  fact  that  this  presence  does  seem 
intolerable;  that  it  is  so  I'ar  apart  from  that  of  man, 
that,  like  a  dividing  sword,  it  makes  his  s{)irit  start ; 
that  he  seeks  to  escape,  and  is,  in  fact,  really  able  to 
resist  it ;  that  he  can  so  easily  case-harden  his  spirit 
against  the  supernatural  pain  ;  that  instead  of  opening 
his  mind  to  receive  this  painfully-tasking  life  that  is 
not  his  own,  he  can  so  easily,  for  a  time  at  least,  set 
up  in  its  place  an  idol  carved  out  of  his  own  nature,  or 
something  even  more  passive  than  his  own  nature,  and 
therefore  not  likely  to  disturb  his  dream  of  rest.  This, 
Ave  take  it,  is  the  first  stage  or  act  of  revelation, 
whether  in  the  individual  conscience,  or  in  that  si)cci!il 
history  which  is  intended  to  reveal  the  conflicts  between 
the  heart  of  a  nation  and  the  God  who  rules  it.  It 
is  the  discovery  of  a  presence  too  pure,  too  great,  too 
piercing  for  the  natural  life  of  man,  — the  effort  of  the 
mind,  on  one  pretence  or  another,  to  be  allowed  to 
stay  on  its  own  level  and  disregard  this  presence,  —  the 
knowledge  that  this  mu;*t  end  in  sinking  below  its  own 
level,  —  the  actunl  trial  and  exjierience  that  it  is  so,  — 
the  reiterated  pain  and  awe  of  a  new  intrusion  of  the 
supernatural  light,  —  the  reiterated  effort  to  "  adapt " 
that  light  to  human  forms  and  likings,  —  the  reiterated 
idolatry  which  all  such  adaptations  imply,  whether 
ph3'sical,  as  in  the  Jewish  times,  or  intellectual,  as  in 
our  own,  —  and  the  reiterated  shame  of  fresh  degrada- 


WHAT  IT  IS  NOT  AND  WHAT  IT  IS.      311 

tion.  If  tliis  l)c,  as,  we  believe,  the  liuninn  conscience 
testifies,  whetlier  as  embodied  in  tiie  typical  history  of 
the  Jews,  or  in  the  individnal  mind,  tiie  first  stage  in 
that  discovery  which  we  call  Tvevelation,  what  becomes 
(jf  Mr.  Mansel's  theory,  that  Ivevelation  is  the  "  ada[)- 
tation  "  of  the  "  infinite  "  to  the  "  finite,"  of  the  perfect  to 
the  imperfect,  of  the  absolnte  morality  to  the  poor  ca- 
j)acities  of  a  sinful  being?  If  so,  —  why  this  craving 
of  the  nature  to  be  let  alone,  —  this  starting  as  at  the 
touch  of  a  fiame  too  vivid  for  it, — this  comfort  in 
cii'cumscribing,  or  fancying  that  we  can  circumscribe, 
the  living  God  in  some  human  image  or  form  of 
thought,  and  worshipping  that  by  way  of  evading  the 
reality  ?  Does  the  imman  spirit  ever  quail  thus  before  a 
mere  notion?  If  God  Himself  is  innccessible  to  know- 
ledge, should  not  we  find  it  extremely  easy  to  adapt 
ourselves  to  any  abstract  or  ideal  conce[)tion  of  Him? 
It  is  the  living  toncli  of  righteousness,  even  though 
human  only,  that  makes  us  shrink  ;  not  the  idea  of 
I'ighteousness,  which,  as  all  theologies  testify,  is  found 
pliant  enough.  15ut  if  it  be  a  righteous  life  and  will, 
not  merely  the  idea  or  idol  of  a  iighte;)us  life;  and 
will,  that  stirs  human  nature  thus  dee[)ly,  nnd  finds  us, 
•IS  it  found  the  Jews,  afraid  to  welcome  it,  awestruck  at 
the  chasm  which  divides  us  from  it,  fearful  to  surrender 
ourselves  to  its  guidance,  ready  to  adapt  it  in  any  way 
to  us,  unready  to  adapt  ourselves  to  it,  —  if,  we  say, 
we  know  it  to  Ije  a  licing  will  that  thus  checks,  lu'ges, 
and  besets  us.  Mr.  jNIanscl's  theory  as  t<>  the  narrow 
limits  of  human  knowledge  would  scarcely  nidnce  him  to 
deny  that  it  is  (iod  Himself;  for  there  is  nothing  in  his 
tiieory  which  is  not  almost  as  nuich  contradicted  by  a)i^ 


312  REVELATION  ; 

living  spirituiil  converse  between  the  liinnnn  spirit  and  a 
spirit  of  perfect  holiness  sis  by  direct  converse  with  God. 
This  first  stage  of  Rovchition,  whicli  we  have  called 
the  Jewish,  may  be  said  to  discriniinjite  the  divine 
j)ersonality  of  God  more  8har[)ly  from  his  own  works 
and  creatures  than  is  possible  or  true  in  any  subse- 
quent and  maturer  stage  of  his  unfolding  purpose.  It 
IS,  in  fact,  the  first  stage  in  the  divine  "  education  " 
of  the  individual  conscience,  as  well  as  of  the  human 
race  ;  and  is  so  vividly  reflected  in  the  national  history 
of  Israel,  only  because  that  is  the  only  history  in  which 
the  a[)peals  of  God  to  the  corporate  conscience  of  a 
whole  nation  are  recorded  as  fully  as  the  actual  national 
deeds  in  which  those  appeals  were  complied  with  or 
defied.  In  the  history  of  other  nations  the  divine  will 
for  the  nation  has  been  at  once  far  less  vividly  inter- 
])retcd,  and,  even  when  adequately  interpreted,  far  loss 
cai'cfidly  recorded  ;  it  has  been  allowed  to  gleam  forth 
only  fitfully  through  the  often  uneducated  consciences 
of  national  heroes ;  while  in  the  case  of  the  Jews, 
we  find  a  succession  of  great  men,  whose  spirits  were 
ujore  or  less  filled  with  the  divine  light,  in  order  that 
the  world  mi":ht  see  in  at  least  one  national  historv 
some  continuous  record  of  the  better  purposes  of  God 
for  the  nation,  as  well  as  of  the  actual  life  by  which 
those  purposes  were  partially  frustrated  or  fulfilled. 
This,  we  believe,  is  the  only  peculiarity  of  Jewivsh 
history,  —  that  a  race  of  prophets  was  })ermittcd  to  pro- 
claim,—  with  varying  truth  of  insight,  no  doubt,  hut 
still  with  far  clearer  and  more  continuous  vision  of  the 
divine  |)urpose  than  any  other  nati()n  has  witnessed, — 
what  God  would  have  had  the  people  do  and   abstain 


WHAT    IT    IS    NOT    AND    WHAT    IT    IS.  313 

fi'om.  To  the  nation  Itself  tliis  was  not  always  a  gain  ; 
probably  that  which  was  evil  in  it  would  not  have 
grown  into  so  stifF  and  hard  a  subsistence  but  for  the 
power  inherent  in  divine  light  to  divide  the  evil  from  the 
good  (for  the  vision  of  a  purpose  too  holy  for  the  life 
of  a  peojjle  issues  in  greater  guilt  as  well  as  greater 
goodness)  ;  but  for  the  world  at  large  no  doubt  it  has 
been  and  is  an  iuuneasurable  blessino;,  —  strictlv  sneak- 
ing,  a  Revelation,  —  to  see  written  out,  parallel  with  the 
national  life  of  a  single  people,  the  life  to  which  God, 
S])eaking  through  the  purest  consciences  of  each  age  of 
their  history,  had  called  them.  But  the  phase  of  lie^e- 
lation  which  we  see  in  Jewish  history  is  simply,  on  the 
scale  of  national  life,  what  the  first  discovery  of  God 
by  the  individual  conscience  is  in  indi\idual  life.  In 
both  cases  there  is  a  contrast  presented  between  G;)d 
and  man,  between  God  and  natiu'c,  sharper  than 
belongs  to  any  other  stage  of  his  unfolding  purposes. 
The  separate  personality  of  God  is  engraved  on  Jewish 
history  with  an  emphasis  which  indicates  that  to  the 
Jew  there  seemed  scarce  any  common  life  between 
God  and  man,  —  any  bridge  between  the  supernatural 
Avill  and  the  easy  flow  of  Nature.  And  is  it  not  thus 
engraved  on  the  individual  conscience  when  first  man 
becomes  aware  that  the  natural  veins  and  curi'ents  of 
his  character  tend  to  a  thousand  different  ends,  whither 
the  brooding  Spirit  of  God  forbids  us  to  go,  —  or 
whither  if  we  do  go,  it  haunts  us  with  throes  of  super- 
natural anguish  till  we  turn  again?  Is  it  not  simply 
the  discovery  that  the  actual  bent  of  our  whole  inward 
constitution  is  not  divine, — the  despair  of  seeing  how 
it  is  ever  to  become  so,  —  which  makes   us,  like    the 


314  REVELATION  ; 

Jew,  separate  tlie  divine  Spirit  so  sharply  from  his 
living  works  and  creatures,  that  for  a  time  we  doubt 
wlu'thcr  the  nature  within  us  can  be  used  by  God  at  all 
—  whether,  n)uch  rather,  its  forces  must  not  be  wholly 
cancelled,  before  the  will  can  be  set  free? 

But  this  sharp  contrast  between  the  jiersonality  of 
God  and  the  nature  of  man,  and  in  lesser  degree 
of  the  external  universe,  is  not  and  cannot  be  final. 
And  if  tlie  Jewish  historv  witnesses  that  the  Will  of 
God  is  the  starting-point  of  a  new  order,  that  the 
forces  of  hiuuan  nature  must  be  brought  into  subjection 
to  that,  if  they  can  be  used  by  God  at  all,  —  then  the 
history  of  a  hundi-ed  other  nations,  more  especially 
of  the  Greeks,  and  in  later  centuries  of  the  Teutonic 
races,  does  testify  with  equal  explicitness  that  natural 
life  is  essentially  divine,  and  requires  at  most  remould- 
ing by  the  Eternal  Spirit,  —  a  remoulding  which  is  so 
far  from  cancelling,  that  it  brings  out  the  true  nature 
in  all  its  freshness,  —  in  order  to  become  the  litting 
organ  of  a  Supernatural  Righteousness.  In  other  words, 
while  man  takes  his  stand  on  the  level  of  his  own 
motives  and  affections,  and  shriidvs  from  the  ti'ans- 
forming  influence  of  the  Spirit  of  God,  these  motives 
and  affections  ai-e  the  veil  which  needs  taking  away  ; 
but  if  he  will  ])ermit  himself  to  be  raised  above  that 
level,  and  will  open  his  heart  freely  to  the  supernat- 
ural influence  at  which  he  trembles,  then  it  will  not 
be  of/ainst  the  voice,  but  bi/  the  voice  of  his  own 
spiritualized  motives  and  affections,  that  God  Himself 
speaks.  The  veil  itself  becomes  transparent ;  the  glass 
that  was  dark,  luminous.  Accordingly  the  revelation 
to  conscience,  which  is  more  or  less  Jewish,  and  sets 


WHAT    IT    IS    NOT    AND    MHAT    IT    IS.  315 

fill  the  fibres  of  the  iiiitunil  life  quivering-  like  an  asi)en- 
Icaf  in  the  wind,  is  neces5«arily  partial  and  temporary. 
Even  in  the  highest  of  the  prophetic  strains  there  is 
perhaps  an  undervaluing-  of  nature,  and  human  nature 
in  its  natui*al  manifestations,  —  a  disposition  to  antici- 
])ate  something  like  a  revolution  rather  tlian  a  regener- 
ation in  its  constitution,  to  represent  direct  praise  of 
God  as  better  and  more  worthy  than  the  indirect  praise 
implied  in  its  perfect  natural  development.  Could 
God's  Self-Revelation  have  been  stayed  at  that  point, 
we  doubt  whether  Gentile  nations, — the  Greek  for 
instance,  —  could  ever  have  embraced  it.  Deep  sensi- 
bility to  the  divine  beauty  of  all  human  faculty  and 
life  was  so  deei)ly  wrought  into  the  very  heart  of 
Greece,  thnt  the  Greek  only  recoiled  at  tlie  Hebrew 
vision  of  a  God  before  whose  presence  hiunan  faculty 
seemed  to  pale  away  like  starlight  in  the  dawn.  Nor 
could  the  Hebrew  faith  itself  have  lived  on  perma- 
nently in  that  phase.  Already,  before  the  Jewish  era 
came  to  a  close,  the  danger  of  idolatry  with  which 
Jewish  faith  was  first  threatened,  —  the  dunger  that 
.God  would  be  eonf(ninded  with  his  works, — had 
merged  in  the  danger  that  He  wouhl  not  be  recognized 
as  living-  in  his  works.  There  is  an  exactly  parallel 
movement  in  the  history  of  the  Kevelation  of  God  to 
the  individual  conscience.      When  first 

"  Those  high  instincts  before  wliioh  our  mortal  nature 
Doth  tremble  like  a  guilty  tiling  surprised  " 

come  u|)on  us,  we  feci  that  man  is  nothing,  and  God 
every  thing  ;  but  soon  himian  nature  re-asserts  its  do- 
minion ;  and  if  there  be  no  full  reconciliation  between 
the  two,  either  the    "high   instincts"    become  ossified 


316  KEVKLATION  ; 

into  tloginn,  and  the  moital  nature  runs  a  fouler  coiii*se 
in  their  presence  ths\n  it  woukl  in  their  absence,  or 
they  fade  away  again  altogether. 

There  is  a  natural  and  legitiiuato  revolt  in  man  against 
any  Supernaturalisuj  wiilch  does  not  do  full  justice  to 
nature :  and  the  o|)i>osite  ri^sk  of  a  deification  of  nature, 
such  Jis  Greece  and  the  GeJitile  nations  were  |)rone  to, 
])roduces  perhaps  less  fearful,  certainly  less  unlovely 
results  than  the  cri'or  which  divorces  nature  from  God, 
an<l  by  disclaiming  in  the  name  of  piety  any  trace  in 
llim  of  the  life  of  tlie  world,  strips  that  world  bare  of 
all  trace  of  God.  Judaism  taught  us  for  ever  that 
Nature  must  be  interpreted  by  our  knovvle<lge  of  God, 
not  God  by  our  knowledge  of  Nature ;  but  it  was  only 
the  perversion  of  Judaiism  which  comfjletely  dissolveil 
the  tie  between  the  two.  The  Greek  shuddered,  an<l 
with  reason,  at  the  sacrile":e  of  ignorino'  the  breath  of 
di\  ine  life  in  the  harmony  of  the  world ;  but  it  was  but 
a  j)erversion  of  Hellenism  when  the  Pantheist  sought 
to  identify  the  two,  —  to  multiply  his  delight  in  natural 
organisuis  until  their  influences  fell  into  a  kind  of  nui- 
sical  harmony  in  his  mind,  which  he  called  the  Divine 
Whole.  Both  of  these  opposite  tendencies  are  equally 
perversions.  And  both  alike  witness  to  the  expectation 
in  the  human  mind  of  some  Revelation  of  the  true  tie 
between  the  life  of  God  and  the  life  of  his  creatures,  — 
the  yearning  to  know,  not  only  what  God  is  in  his 
essential  character,  but  what  seed  of  his  own  life  He 
has  given  to  us,  and  what  power  it  is  by  which  that 
seed  may  be  guarded  through  its  germination  from  the 
extinction  or  corruption  with  which  it  is  threatened. 
Accept  with  the  Greek  the  capacity  for  a  divine  order  in 


•WHAT    IT    IS    NOT    AND    AVHAT    IT    IS.  317 

ni:in  niul  the  universe  ;  accept  witli  the  Jew  the  reality 
of  tlie  "'Lord's  Controversy"  witii  man;  and  how  are 
the  two  to  be  reconciled?  how  is  the  supernatural  right- 
eousness to  avail  itself  of  the  perverted  growths  of 
luuuan  capacity?  how  is  the  "Lord's  Controversy"  to 
be  set  at  rest? 

This  was  a  question  which  tlie  Jewish  Revelation 
never  solved  for  the  questioner,  —  except  so  far  as  it 
taught  him  that  God  could  conquer  the  most  rebellious 
nature.  But  even  then  he  recognized  the  Supernatural 
will  as  trluniplihig  over  the  poverty  of  human  and  nat- 
iu"al  life,  rather  than  as  revealing  itself  actually  through 
and  in  the  divine  springs  of  that  life.  The  "Contro- 
versy "  was  solved  for  him  rather  by  the  power  of  God 
over  nature  than  by  the  power  of  God  in  nature.  But 
what  was  it  thiit  the  Gentile  nations  craved?  Some 
new  conviction  that  the  supernatural  was  not  at  war 
with  the  constitution  of  nature,  but  the  eternal  source 
of  it  ;  that  the  gradual  growth,  the  seasonal  bloom,  the 
germinating  loveliness  of  the  natural  and  visiijle  uni- 
verse, cuhniiijiting  in  the  wonderful  life  of  man,  is  itself 
not  a  veil  but  a  levelation,  a  hai'inony  of  voices  address- 
ing us  iiom  the  l)i\ine  life,  and  claiming  our  allegiance 
to  One  higher  than  themselves.  They  too  saw,  what 
the  .Jew  had  been  taught,  that  in  fact  this  was  not 
really  so,  that  there  was  a  jar,  a  discord  somewhere  ; 
but  if  they  saw  far  less  clearly  whence  came  the  power 
\\  Inch  could  conuuand  the  discord  to  cease,  they  saw 
far  more  clearly  that,  if  it  could  cease,  the  true  nature 
would  be  restored  and  not  conquci'ed,  vindicated  and 
not  extinguished,  strengthened   not  exhaled. 

The  human   condition   of    this  revelation,  as   of   all 


318  REVELATION  ; 

other  Revelation,  is  born  with  the  huinnn  mind.  The 
Supernatural  and  Righteous  Will,  who  besets  and 
confronts  on  every  side  the  unruly  impidses  of  our 
lower  self,  is  revealed  to  the  Conscience,  and  without 
the  Conscience  could  not  be  revealetl  at  all.  But 
besides  this,  there  is  another  experience  of  man's  which 
renders  him  capable  of  another  revelation.  Quite  ajnnt 
from  the  conscience  and  the  sense  of  guilt  and  the  law, 
—  quite  apart  from  the  living  AVill,  who  looks  into  our 
hearts  and  sejirchcs  out  their  evil,  —  there  is,  we  sup- 
pose, in  every  man  a  more  natural  and  genial  expciience 
of  the  spontaneous  growth  and  unfolding,  or  it  may  l;c 
only  the  effort  to  unfold,  of  the  true  nature  as  it  ought 
to  grow,  —  a  gentle  spontaneous  resistance  to  the 
shapes  into  which  our  faults  and  imperfections  force  or 
try  to  force  it,  —  the  effort  of  the  true  man  within  us  to 
grow  into  his  right  and  perfect  state  in  spite  of  the 
resistance  of  frailty,  incapacity,  and  sin.  AVhat  we  are 
now  sj)enking  of  is  not  an  experience  merely  of  the 
moral  life,  but  of  the  whole  nature.  Does  not  cxcry 
man  feel  that  there  are  unused  capacities  of  all  kinds 
within  him,  gently  pressing  for  their  natural  develop- 
ment?—  I  hat  a  living  tendency  urges  us  to  grow,  not 
merely  in  moral  but  in  piiysical  and  intellectual  consti- 
tution, towards  the  individual  tyj)e  for  which  we  were 
made?  —  that  the  various  frictions  of  evil,  moral  or 
merely  circumstantial,  which  prevent  this,  when  it  is 
prevented,  distort  the  true  divine  growth,  and  leave  ug 
less  than  what  we  might  have  been  ?  It  was  this  expe- 
rience which  the  religion  of  Greece  has  preserved  so 
vividly,  —  the  faith  that,  beneath  the  deformity  of  real 
life,  there    is    a    formative    plastic    power  that  is  ever 


WHAT    IT    IS    NOT    AND    WHAT    IT    IS.  319 

arising  us  towards  our  truest  life  ;  benciith  ungainliness, 
a  growth,  or  effort  to  grow,  of  something  more  harmoni- 
ous ;  beneath  ignorance,  a  growth,  or  effort  to  grow,  of 
the  true  understanding;  beneath  impurity  and  evil,  the 
growth,  or  effort  to  grow,  of  the  true  moral  beauty. 

It  was,  \vc  believe,  to  this  experience  in  every  man's 
mind,  —  an  experience  whicli  cannot  be  called  moral 
so  much  as  tlie  true  instinct  of  Ufc,  —  that  the  unveil- 
ing of  God  in  Christ  a|)pealed,  and  which  fitted  tlie 
Christian  revelation  to  include  the  Greek  as  well  as 
the  Jew.  There  at  last  was  the  harmony  of  the  Super- 
natural and  the  Natural, — the  divine  effort  at  har- 
monious growth  whicli  seemed  to  be  in  every  man, 
unfolding  from  the  germ  to  the  full  fruit  without  the 
canker  or  the  blight,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  revealing 
to  all  of  us  exactly  what  the  Supernatural  vision  reveals 
to  the  conscience,  the  absolute  will  of  good,  the  divine 
anger  against  sin,  the  infinite  chasm  between  evil  and 
good,  the  |)()\ver  and  h;)lincss  of  God.  AVhat  was  this 
life,  in  whicli  the  unity  of  God  and  man  was  at  length 
vindicated?  Did  it  not  utter  in  clearer  accents  the 
awfid  Will  which  had  spoken  within  the  Jew  ?  Did  it 
not  image  in  living  colors  the  perfect  nature  which 
liad  stirred  so  gently  and  breathed  so  deep  a  sense  of 
divinity  into  the  finer  folds  of  Grecian  life?  Was  it 
not  at  once  the  answer  to  that  craving  for  a  true  vision 
of  the  moral  nature  of  God  which  had  haunted  the 
Hebrew  conscience,  and  the  answer  to  that  cra\ing 
for  a  true  vision  of  the  undistorted  life  of  man  which 
had  haunted  the  Grecian  iuiagination  ?  True,  it  was  a 
vision  of  the  Father  only  as  He  is  seen  in  the  Son,  of 
the  filial  and  subniissive  ^^'ill,  not  of  the  original  and 


320  KEVELATIOX  ; 

undciivcd  Will ;  but  as  it  is  the  pcrrectioii  of  the  filijil 
V^'ill  to  rest  in  the  Will  of  his  Father,  the  spiritual 
imnL;e  is  perfect,  though  tlie  personal  life  is  distinct. 
And  this  was,  in  fiict,  exactly  what  answered  the 
yearnini;  of  the  Greek  for  an  explanation  of  that 
livinji'  jrerni  of  divine  life  within  him.  Was  it  not  a 
jtcrfect  uffture,  ^\h\\  like  his  own, — tlic  very  nature 
into  which  he  was  capable  of  growl:ii^, — that  had  thus 
been  pushing  against  the  weight  of  deformity,  stirring 
the  sources  of  natural  perfection,  nnd  warning  him 
that  his  mind  was  growing  in  wrong  directi(Mis,  and 
not  blossoming  into  the  beauty  f)r  which  it  was  de- 
si;jned?  He  was  readv  to  recoj^nize  as  the  divine 
A^'ord,  which  had  grown  into  pi  rfecr  humanity  in 
Christ,  the  very  same  higher  nature  which  had  been 
i:i  him  but  not  of  him  ;  which  had  filled  his  mind  with 
tluse  faint  longings  after  something  that  he  might  have 
been  and  was  not ;  which  was  still  stii-ring  within  him 
whenever  a  new  blight,  or  a  new  failure,  or  a  new  sin, 
threatened  to  divert  him  still  further  from  the  destiny 
to  which  he  knew  he  was  capable  to  attain.  The  secret 
A\ill.of  God  Nvas,  accordini;  to  the  lon^jinij  of  the 
Jews,  first  fully  manifest  in  Christ ;  the  secret  hopes 
of  man  were,  according  to  the  "  desire  of  all  nations," 
there  first  fulfilled. 

If  Christ,  then,  was  to  the  Jew  mainly  the  Revela- 
tion of  the  Absolute  \\"\\\  as  reficcted  in  the  perfect 
filial  will  ;  to  the  Greek  mainly  the  levelation  of  that 
j)crfect  human  nature  which  had  been  so  long  stirring 
within  him,  we  might  expect  to  find  acts  in  which  ho 
especially  revealed  the  living  Ruler  of  the  Universe, 
and  acts   in   which  he   e-^peciully  revealed   the   inward 


WIIAT    IT    IS    NOT    AXI)    WHAT    IT    IS.  321 

influences  which  were  to  restore  order  to  the  human 
heart ;  —  acts  in  which  lie  manifested  the  Father,  and 
acts  in  vvliich  he  unsealed  the  eternal  fountains  of  purity 
in  human  life.  Mr.  Maurice,  in  answering  Mr.  Man- 
sel's  assertion  that  tiie  Absolute  is  beyond  human  vision, 
calls  attention  esj>ecially  to  the  former  class.  He  inti- 
mates that  in  the  miracles  and  the  parables,  for  in- 
stance, we  have  Revelations  of  tiie  spii-itual  source  of  the 
physical  world.  Mr.  Wescott's  thoughtful  little  book 
pursues  the  same  track  with  regard  to  the  miracles  only. 
The  tenor  of  both  writers  is  the  same.  There  had  been 
ever  in  man  an  awe  at  the  mighty  [)ovvers  of  the  physi- 
cal universe,  and  the  a[)parent  recklessness  with  which 
tiiese  powers  acted.  The  Jew,  who  loved  to  see  in 
God  the  source  of  all  power,  still  hardly  dared  to  refer 
these  crushing  forces  to  the  same  national  Providence 
which  had  guarded  and  governed  his  race  with  a  per- 
sonal care  so  express.  The  Greek  thought  them  in 
their  awful  undeviating  order  far  more  sublime  than  he 
could  have  done  had  he  held  them  to  be  exercises  of 
a  mere  Su[)reme  Will.  But  yet  he  would  willingly 
have  connected  them  with  an  order,  spiritual  as  well  as 
physical,  such  as  he  recognized  in  the  destinies  of  men. 
Christ,  by  manifesting  the  })ower  which  controlled  and 
upheld  them,  and  yet  manifesting  it  with  a  healing 
and  life-giving  purpose,  answered  both  these  cra\  ings. 
"These  powers,"  the  miracles  said,  "which  seem  so 
physical,  so  ai'bitrary,  sometimes  so  der;tructive,  —  which 
sometimes  appear  to  be  wielded  by  an  c\  il  spirit,  — are 
in  the  hands  of  one  who  would  heal  men's  miseries, 
restore  their  life,  moral  and  physical,  purify  them 
from  disease,  and  hush  the  storm   into  a  calm  :   if  it 

21 


.H22  REVELATION  ; 

ever  seem  otherwise,  be  sure  that  the  seeming  destruc- 
tion has  a  life-giving  purpose,  the  physical  disease  a 
deeper  healing  influence ;  that  the  tempest  is  a  bringcr 
of  serener  peace,  the  blindness  a  preparation  for  diviner 
light.  The  order  of  the  universe  has  a  spiritual  root ; 
the  jmrpose  of  love  which  changes,  is  also  the  purpose 
of  love  which  directs  it.  He  who  can  bind  and  loose 
the  forces  of  nature,  has  thus  revealed  the  eternal 
purposes  in  which  they  originate." 

So  again,  Mr.  Maurice,  in  a  sermon  of  great  beauty, 
claims  for  the  parables  that  they  were  intended  to 
reveal  the  spiritual  significance  which  had  been  from 
the  first  embodied  in  the  physical  processes  of  the  uni- 
verse, —  that  the  analogy  between  the  light  of  the  body 
and  the  light  of  the  spirit,  the  sowing  and  reaping  of 
the  external  and  of  the  spiritual  world,  and  the  other 
analogies  in  what  we  usually  call  Christ's  "  figurative  " 
language,  Jire  not  really  metaphorical,  but  exhihit  tlie 
perfect  insight  of  the  divine  mind  of  the  Son  into  the 
creative  purposes  of  the  Father.  If  it  be  true  thnt 
the  creator  of  our  spirits  is  the  creator  of  our  bodies 
also,  we  might  only  expect  that  he  who  revealed  the  true 
life  of  the  one, would  know  and  exhibit  its  close  natural 
affinities  with  the  life  of  the  other.  Is  not  the  physical 
universe  as  a  whole  meant  to  be  for  man  the  vesture  of 
the  spiritual  universe?  Is  not  all  the  truest  language, 
therefore,  necessarily  what  we  call  figurati\  e  ;  and  only 
false  when  the  spiritual  is  interpreted  by  the  physical, 
instead  of  the  physical  by  the  spiritual? 

"  But  if  there  is  this  correspondence  between  the  organs 
of  the  spirit  and  the  organs  of  sense,  if  experience  assures 
there  is,  does  not  that  explain  to  us  the  meaning  and  power  of 


WHAT    IT    IS    NOT    AND    WHAT    IT    IS.  323 

the  parables?  May  not  all  sensible  thing?,  by  a  necessity  of 
their  nature,  be  testifying  to  us  of  that  wIul-Ii  is  neare.-t  to 
us,  of  that  which  it  most  concerns  us  to  know,  of  the  mvs- 
feries  of  our  own  life,  and  of  God's  relation  to  us?  ~M;\v  it 
not  be  impossible  for  us  to  escape  from  these  witnesses  ? 
They  may  become  insignificant  to  us  from  our  vei'v  familiar- 
ity with  them;  nay,  we  may  utterly  forget  that  thei-e  i-  any 
wo:ider  in  them.  The  transformation  of  tlie  seed  into  tlie 
full  coi-n  in  the  ear  may  appear  to  us  the  dullest  of  all  phe- 
nomena, not  wortliy  to  be  noted  or  thought  of.  The  dlHlrence 
in  the  return-;  from  different  soils,  (jr  from  the  same  soils 
nuder  different  cultivation.  —  the  difference  in  the  qujdiiv  of 
the  produce,  and  the  relations  which  it  bears  to  the  quality 
of  the  seeds,  — may  be  interesting  to  us  from  the  effe.t  such 
varieties  have  upon  the  market,  fi-om  the  more  or  less  money 
we  derive  from  the  sale;  not  the  least  as  fju-ts  in  nature,  facts 
for  meditation.  The  relatioii  between  a  landholder  or  fiii-mer 
and  those  who  work  for  him,  between  a  shepherd  and  his 
sheep,  all  in  like  manner  may  be  tried  by  the  s.une  pecuuiaiy 
standard  ;  apart  from  that,  they  may  suggest  nothing  to  us. 
Thus  the  universe  becomes  actually  'as  is  a  landsenpe  to  a 
dead  man's  eye;'  the  business  in  which  we  are  ourselves 
engaged,  a  routine  which  must  be  got  through  in  some  way 
or  another,  that  we  may  liave  leisure  to  eat,  drink,  and  sleep. 
Can  any  language  describe  this  state  so  accurately  and  vividly 
as  that  of  our  Lord  in  the  text?  Seeing  we  see,  and  do  not 
perceive;  hearing  we  hear,  and  do  not  understand." 

This  revelation,  however,  throuf^li  Christ, — by  lils 
life,  by  his  miracles,  by  his  parables,  by  his  resurrec- 
tion and  ascension,  — of  the  Su[)rcine  ^^'i]l,  would  not 
have  fnlfillcd  as  it  did  the  "desire  of  all  nations,"  bad 
it  not  also  revealed  that  livinii;  j)ower  in  man  by  wliich 
human  nature  is  wrought  into  bis  likeness.  I'o  know 
God  has  been,  in  all  ages,  but   an   awful   knowl<;dge, 


324  REVELATION  ; 

until  the  formative  influence  which  is  able  to  coinimini- 
catc  to  ua  his  nature  is  revealed  also.  And  accordinr^- 
ly,  Christ  no  sooner  disappears  from  earth  than  all  the 
Christian  writinirs  bejrin  to  dwell  far  more  on  the  new 
strength  he  had  revealed  within  them  than  on  ids 
outward  life.  The  interior  frrowth  of  divine  nature 
thus  revealed  mijjht  be  called  new,  because  now  first 
they  rccogni/AHl  it  as  a  divine  power,  as  a  power  they 
could  frn.st,  as  a  life  that  would  j^row  bv  its  own  mii^ht 
witliin  them  if  only  they  did  not  smother  it  and  were 
content  to  restrain  their  own  lower  self  from  any  vol- 
untary inroads  of  evil.  This  power  had  been  there,  no 
doubt,  in  all  men  and  all  times  ;  the  f>:crminating  life  of 
an  inward  s[)irlt  of  involuntary  good  had  never  been 
a  stranger  to  man  ;  it  had  always  pushed  with  gentle 
pressure  against  the  limits  of  narrow  minds  and  narrow 
hearts  and  of  positive  evil,  —  not,  indeed,  with  the 
keen  and  piercing  thrusts  of  divine  judgment,  but  with 
the  spontaneous  movement  of  better  life  striving  to  cast 
off  the  scale  of  hmg-worn  habit.  But  now  this  power 
was  not  only  felt,  but  its  origin  was  revealed.  It  was 
that  same  divine  human  natuie  which  had  been  embod- 
ied in  the  earthly  Christ  that  was  stirring  in  the  hearts 
of  all  men.  It  was  he,  whose  life  had  been  so  strange 
and  brief  a  miracle  of  beauty,  to  whom  they  might 
trust  to  mould  afresh  the  twisted  sha|)es  of  human 
imperfection,  to  push  Airward  the  growth  of  the  good 
seed  and  the  eradication  of  the  tares  within  them.  The 
same  life  which  had  shed  its  healing  influence  over  the 
sick  and  the  sinful  in  Galilee  and  Judea,  was  but 
the  human  form  of  that  which  fostered  the  true  nature 
beneath  the  falsehoods  of  all   actual  life,  and  worked 


WHAT    IT    IS    NOT    AND    WHAT    IT    IS.  325 

within  tlic  disciples  as  tlioy  preaclied  tlicir  risen  Lord. 
It  w!5s  not  tliey,  but  ''  Clirist  that  worked  in  them." 
Here  was  the  ti"ue  exphmation  of  tlie  unity  of"  the 
Iiuniiui  nice,  the  conunon  life  which  was  the  source  of 
all  that  was  deep  and  good;  as  se[)arative  infiuenccs 
grew  out  of  all  that  was  j)rofoun(lIy  evil.  They  were 
all  members  of  Christ ;  his  nature  was  in  them  all, 
drawinir  out  the  beauty  and  chastening  the  deformity, 
breathlnir  the  breath  of  universal  charitv,  and  kindling 
the  Himie  of  inextinguishable  hope.  This  was  a  power 
to  trust  in,  the  image  of  the  Father's  will,  because 
breathing  the  very  spirit  of  that  w  ill  ;  and  fuller  of 
liope  than  any  vision  of  a  holy  king  commanding  an 
allegiance  which  they  could  not  bend  their  stiff  hearts 
to  pay,  or  conquering  their  moral  freedom  without  act- 
ing on  the  secret  springs  of  their  humanity.  They  had 
known  this  power  in  themselves  before ;  but  they 
liad  not  read  it  aright,  because  they  had  not  estimated 
aright  its  source  and  the  certainty  and  universality  of  its 
operation.  They  had  not  before  known  it  as  directly 
manifested  in  him  who  oj^ened  the  eyes  of  the  blind, 
and  cleansed  the  leper,  and  stilled  the  storm  ;  who 
forgave  sins,  and  wrestled  with  temptation  ;  and  finally 
passed  through  the  grave,  and  trouble  deeper  than  the 
ifrave,  without  beini;  "  holden  "  of  it,  because  his  will 
was  freely  surrendered  to  his  Father. 

Plere,  then,  was  a  revchition  not  simply  of  the  Abso- 
lute natiu'c  of  God,  but  of  the  foruKitive  power  of 
Christ  that  is  at  work  to  cancel  distorted  growths,  and 
c\en  mere  natiu-al  deficiency  in  every  human  heart. 
But  it  was  to  do  n)ore  than  this,  — it  was  to  take  away 
sin  itself  from  those  who  could  bring  themselves  to  trust 


326  REVELATIOX ; 

their  hearts  freely  to  his  influence  ;  —  to  reveal  to  them, 
in  short,  the  great  divine  law  that,  as  through  the  unity 
of  hunitm  nature  "  if  one  mciuber  suffers,  all  tlie  niem- 
})ers  ^ulfcr  with  it,"  so  through  the  same  unity  a  new 
life  may  spread  into  even  the  weakest  and  eorru[)test 
member.  It  was  to  reveal  it  as  the  highest  privilege  of 
this  great  central  human  life  to  purify  others  when  once 
thpir  will  begins  to  turn  towards  him  by  entering  into 
the  very  heart  of  their  evil  and  reaching  the  very  core 
of  their  inward  misery  ;  so  that  while  new  life  returns 
to  them,  the  shadow  of  pain  inscparal>le  from  tlic  per- 
fect knowledge  of  human  guilt  falls  back  on  the  spiiit 
of  the  great  Purifier.  This  was  the  revelation  of  the 
true  nature  in  man  ;  a  nature  that  not  only,  as  the 
Gentile  nations  felt,  .asserted  the  primitive  truth  and 
goodness  properly  belonging  to  every  human  creature, 
but  that  is  capable  of  restoiing  that  truth  and  goodness, 
cancelling  the  sinful  habit,  melting  the  rigid  heart, 
emancipating  the  sullen  temper,  by  the  mere  exerti:)n 
of  its  spontaneous  fascination  over  any  spirit  which 
once  surrenders  to  its  control.  And  this,  accordingly, 
is  the  great  subject  of  Christian  writers  after  once 
(JIuist  had  left  the  earth.  It  was  to  them  a  new  dis- 
covery that  the  restorative  power  in  every  heart  was 
not  the  power  of  their  own  wills,  which  they  knew  to 
be  limited  at  most  to  a  rejection  of  evil  acts,  but  the 
very  same  power  which  had  grown  up  into  a  perfect 
humanity  in  Christ,  and  only  required  an  act  of  contin- 
uous trust  to  claim  them  for  its  own.  To  trust  in  such 
a  power  was  not  hard,  to  stifle  the  active  rebellion  of 
their  own  wills  was  possible  ;  l)ut  to  purge  the  tin-bid 
fountain  of  their  human  life,  had  that  also  been  required 


^VILVT    IT    IS    NOT    AND    WHAT    IT    IS.  327 

of  tliciu,  as  both  Jew  and  Gciitilc  lind  often  dreamed, 
was  mere  impossibility.  To  knoio  who  it  was  who  was 
working  in  them,  Avas  to  muhi[)l)-  infinitely  the  regener- 
ating power  of  his  life. 

Snch,  then,  we  hold  to  be  the  essence  of  the  divine 
Self-Ke\  elation  of  God.  Into  the  question  of  its  exact 
relation  to  the  historical  narrative  in  the  Bible,  slightly 
touched  upon  both  by  Mr.  Mansel  and  Mr.  Maurice, 
we  cannot  here  enter.  While  accepting  gratefully  the 
many  new  and  brilliant  lights  which  all  Mr.  Maurice's 
writings,  and  this  last  perhaps  most  of  all,  have  cast  on 
the  deepest  subject  into  which  the  human  heart  can 
enter,  we  should  perhaps  differ  most  from  him  in  his 
biblical  criticism.  A  mind  so  rich  in  meditative  wisdom 
as  his,  so  ready  to  snatch  a  religious  truth  from  the 
strangest  confusion  of  historical  incident,  seems  scarcely 
able  to  appreciate  the  kind  of  impression  which  incon- 
sistent and  sometimes  inconceivable  statements,  sup- 
ported by  no  appreciable  evidence, — such,  for  instance, 
as  that  of  the  star  which  is  said  to  have  guided  the 
IVIagians  to  the  manger  at  Bethlehem,  —  make  on  or- 
dinary students  with  regard  to  all  historical  details, 
indeed  to  all  the  historical  elements  of  Revelation. 
Mr.  Maurice  is  as  deei)ly  j)crsuaded  as  we  are  that 
the  fullest  and  freest  criticism  will  work  out  the  most 
happy  issues.  For  ourselves,  we  feel  little  doubt  that 
such  criticism  will  show  a  large  admixture  of  untrust- 
worthy elements  in  the  narrative  of  both  Old  and  New 
Testament ;  and  that  if  it  prove  so,  the  mere  eman- 
cipation of  the  intellect  from  what  seems  a  jjurely 
literary  superstition  as  to  the  truth  of  the  Bible  narra- 
tives, \i\\\  probably  bring  far  more  gain  to  the  spiritual 


328  KEVELATION  ;    WHAT   IT   IS    NOT,    ETC. 

freetlom  of  man,  and  do  far  more  to  direct  attention  to 
the  gpirituul  evidenoes  of  all  divine  truth,  than  nuy 
other  result  could  educe.  We  believe  Biblicdatry  hsw 
been,  and  is  likely  long  to  be,  the  bane  of  Protestant 
Cln'istianity.  Spiritual  realities  would  indeed  be  recog- 
nized as  spiritual .  realities  by  few,  had  they  had  no 
pei'fect  manifestation  in  the  actutd  works  and  Providence 
of  God,  —  had  not  the  desire  of  the  heart  been  em- 
bodied in  the  desire  of  the  eyes.  But  that  no  minute 
history  was  needful  of  the  earthly  life  of  him  who  can 
interpret  his  own  meaning,  and  who  came  that  he 
might  draw  the  veil  from  etei'nal  power  and  truth,  and 
not  to  fascinate  men's  eyes  and  hearts  to  one  single 
illuminated  point  of  space  and  time,  —  is  sufficiently 
proved  by  the  absence  of  all  records  of  his  life  which 
can  be  called  minute,  or  which  do  not  rely  on  the  faith- 
fulness of  memory  even  for  their  outlines.  Human 
vanity,  eager  to  guarantee  its  own  immortality,  carries 
laboriously  about  all  the  jwraphernalia  for  setting  down 
every  word  and  action  before  its  transient  life  is  spent. 
He  who  is  solving  the  agonizing  '  problems  of  ages, 
speaking  to  the  depths  of  the  human  si)int  in  genera- 
tions on  generations  yet  unborn,  and  uttering  "the 
things  which  have  been  kept  secret  from  the  foundation 
of  the  world,"  can  afford  to  dispense  with  the  minute 
history  of  his  life,  when  he  has  power  to  turn  every 
human  conscience  into  a  new  witness  of  his  truth,  and 
every  heart  into  a  new  evangelist  of  his  glory. 


329 


PERSONAL  INFLUENCKS  ON  OUR  PRESENT 
THEOLOGY :  NEWMAN  —  COLERIDGE  —  CAR- 
LYLE* 


"Theology,"  says  Mr.  iMacaulay,  in  liis  miscliievous 
way,  "is  not  a  progressive  science."  It  may,  however, 
be  retrogressive  ;   and  it  is  sure  to  repay  flippant  neg- 

*  Tlie  Arians  of  tlic  Fourth  Century;  their  Doctrine,  Temper,  and  Con- 
duct, chiefly  as  exhibited  in  the  Councils  of  tiie  Church,  between  A  L).  ^25 
and  A.D.  SSI.  By  John  Ilciiry  Xewnuin,  JI  A.,  I'ellou'  of  Oriel  College. 
Second  edition,  literally  reprinted  from  the  first  edition,  fivo.  London:  E. 
Lumley.     1854. 

Callista;  a  Sketch  of  the  Third  Centurj-.  By  Dr.  J.  IL  Newman. 
12uio.     London:   Burns  and  Lambert.     1S5G. 

The  Defence  of  the  Archdeacon  of  Taunton,  in  its  complete  form.  Royal 
8vo.     J^ondon:  J.  Masters,  and  J.  II.  and  J.  I'arker.     ISfitj. 

Notes,  Thcolof^ical,  Political,  and  ^lii-ccllaneous.  By  Samuel  Taylor 
Coleridge.  Edited  by  the  Kev.  Derwent  Coleridge,  INI  A.  l^ondon:  ^Moxoii. 
lfco3. 

Charges  to  the  Clerg\'  of  the  Archdeaconry  of  T.ewes,  delivered  at  the 
ordinary  Visitations  in  the  years  lf:4-3,  1845,  1840.  By  Julius  Charles  llarc, 
M.A.,  Archdeacon.  Never  before  published.  With  an  Introduction,  explan- 
atory of  his  position  in  the  Church  with  reference  to  the  Parties  which  divide 
it.     Cambridge:  Macmillan  and  Co.     1S56. 

The  Doctrine  of  Sacrifice  deduced  from  the  Scriptures.  A  Series  of 
Sermons  by  Frederick  Denison  itaur  ee,  MA  ,  Chaplain  of  Lincoln's  Inn. 
Cambridge:  Macmillan  and  Co.     1854. 

St.  Paul  and  Modern  Thought:  Remarks  on  the  Views  advanced  in 
Professor  Jowett's  Commentary  on  St.  Paul.  By  J.  Llewelyn  Davies,  M..\., 
Fellow  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  and  Incumbent  of  St  Mark's,  White- 
chapel.     Cambridge;:  Macmillan  and  Co.     1S5G. 

Passages  selected  from  the  Writings  of  Thomas  Carlylc.  AVith  a  Bio- 
graphical Memoir.  By  Thomas  Ballantyne.  I'ost  Svo.  London:  Chapmar 
and  liall.     1856. 

National  Review,  October,  1856. 


330  PERSONAL    INFLUENCES 

Icct  by  lending  its  empty  space  to  mean  tlcliisions.  To 
its  great  problems  some  answer  will  always  be  at- 
tempted :  and  there  is  much  to  choose  between  the 
solutions,  howe\'er  imperfect,  found  by  reverential  wis- 
dom, and  the  dcgi'ading  falsehoods  ten<lercd  in  reply  by 
the  indifferent  and  superficial.  Even  in  their  failures, 
there  is  a  vast  difference  between  the  explorings  of  the 
seeing  and  the  blind.  IVe  deny,  however,  that  Chris- 
tian theology  can  assume  any  aspect  of  failure,  excc|)t 
to  those  who  use  a  false  measure  of  success.  It  is  not 
in  the  nature  of  religion,  of  poetry,  of  art,  to  exhil)it 
the  kind  of  progress  that  belongs  to  physical  science. 
They  differ  from  it  in  seeking,  not  the  phenomena  of 
the  universe,  but  its  essence,  —  not  its  laws  of  change, 
but  its  eternal  meanings,  —  not  outward  nature,  in 
short,  excej)t  as  exj)i'essive  of  the  inner  thought  of 
God :  and  being  thus  intent  upon  the  enduring  spirit 
and  very  ground  of  things,  they  cannot  grow  by  nu- 
merical accretion  of  facts  and  exactor  registration  of 
successions.  They  are  the  product,  not  of  the  patient 
sense  and  comparing  intelligence  which  are  always  at 
hand,  but  of  a  deeper  and  finer  insight,  changing  with 
the  atmosphere  of  the  affections  and  will.  Instead  of 
looking,  therefore,  for  perpetual  advance  of  discovery 
in  theology,  we  should  naturally  cx[)ect  an  ebb  and  flow 
of  light,  answering  to  the  moral  condition  of  men's 
minds:  and  may  be  content  if  the  divine  truth,  lost  in 
the  <lulncs3  of  a  material  age,  clears  itself  into  fresh 
forms  with  the  returning  breath  of  a  better  time. 

With  hope  thus  moderate,  in  no  confidence  that  the 
millennium  is  due  at  present,  but  certainly  in  no  despair 
of  larger  visions  than  to-day's,  we  propose  to  ghuice  at 


ON    OUR    PRESENT   THEOLOGY.  331 

the  newer  characteristics  of  Enfjlish  theoloirv  ;  to  tiace 
their  origin  and  deviation  from  the  data  of  the  antece- 
dent generation  ;  and  to  indicate  any  common  point  to- 
wards which  their  several  lines  of  direction  may  seem 
to  converge.  Few  thoughtful  men,  who  have  lived 
tiirough  the  greater  part  of  the  present  century,  can 
fail  to  be  more  or  less  aware  of  a  vast  change  in  the 
religious  ideas  and  spirit  of  the  time,  —  a  change  surclv 
to  a  higher  mood  of  faith,  and  even  of  doubt.  A  rapid 
survey  of  its  social  conditions,  and  of  its  ciiief  authors, 
living  and  departed,  may  lielp  us  to  appreciate  its  mag- 
nitude and  tendency. 

Prior  to  the  peace  of  1815,  tlie  disposable  activity 
of  the  English  mind  was  bes[)()ken  for  the  most  ]iart  by 
the  excitement  of  European  politics.  Wliat  religious 
movement  tliere  was  arose  out  of  the  contagion  of 
"French  princi[)Ics,"  or  the  recoil  from  them;  and  was 
so  subservient  to  the  antagonism  of  parties  in  the  state 
as  to  acquire  no  independent  or  scientific  character. 
The  disaflfection  of  Irelaixl,  and  its  threatened  invasion 
by  Napoleon,  gave  an  anti-catholic  direction  to  the  zeal 
of  the  day,  and  enabled  the  "  Clapham  sect,"  favored 
by  the  prejudices  of  tiie  king  and  the  influence  of  Mr. 
Perceval,  to  attain  a  |)osition  disproportioned  to  its 
merits.  After  the  close  of  the  war,  the  numbers  and 
social  imj)ortance  of  this  party  continued  to  increase. 
There  were  large  arrears  of  domestic  |)olitics  to  be  dealt 
with  ;  and  the  prominence  held  by  the  Catholic  question 
for  twelve  or  fourteen  years  made  a  watchword  of  the 
"  Bible-cry,"  placed  the  "  Evangelicals  "  in  the  van  of 
the  "Protestant  interest,"  and  Irish  zealots  in  the  van 
of  the  Evangelicals.      This   temporary  leadership  was 


'A?)2  PERSONAL   INFLUEXCES 

not  fjvornble  to  their  permanent  power.  A  fatal  taint 
of  political  agitation  infected  the  system  ;  and  once 
connnitted  to  the  keeping  of  Hibernian  rhetoric,  it  was 
spoiled  for  the  quiet  depths  of  the  English  mind. 

One  by  one  the  elements  of  the  political  struggle 
succeeding  to  the  war  were  discharged.  The  disabili- 
ties were  swept  away  ;  the  House  of  Commons  was 
reconstituted  ;  the  municipalities  were  reformed  ;  sla- 
very was  abolished.  These  great  enterprises  of  action 
and  resistance  being  over,  and  the  strain  of  conflict 
withdrawn,  attention  was  free  for  more  reflective  m- 
tcrests,  and  an  inner  movement  began  to  replace  the 
outward.  The  several  religious  parties,  disengaged 
from  their  civic  campaign,  were  sent  home  to  their 
spiritual  husbandry,  and  thrown  upon  their  intrinsic 
resources  of  genius  and  character.  The  time,  ever  so 
critical  for  church  and  doctrine,  had  come  at  last,  — 
tlie  time  of  searching  thought  and  quiet  work.  Other 
charit}'  than  would  serve  upon  the  hustings,  —  a  deeper 
gospel  than  was  known  at  apocaly])tic  tea-tables,  —  a 
piety  stimulant  of  no  platform  cheers,  became  indis- 
])ensable  in  evidence  and  expiession  of  the  Christian 
life.  Especially  at  the  centres  of  intellectual  light,  — 
the  Universities,  where  the  speculative  faculties  are 
trained,  —  were  the  reigning  systems  sui'e  to  be  tried 
by  the  severest  tests.  Who  could  abide  the  day  of 
reckoning?  ^Vhat  party,  formed  amid  the  tastes  and 
admirations  of  the  previous  age,  could  prove  itself 
equal  to  the  larger  problems  of  a  new  time?  Dis- 
charged from  the  work  of  middle-class  agitation,  and 
scrutinized  by  academic  eyes,  what  had  Evangelicism 
to  show?     Its  men  of  genius? —  if  it  has  hi^jher  names 


ox    OUU    PREJSENT    THEOLOGY.  8o3 

than  AVilberforce  and  Martyn,  we  never  lieard  them. 
Its  literature?  —  its  favorites  were  Hannah  More  and 
Robert  Montgomery.  Its  divinity?  —  it  attained  tlie 
altitude  of  Scott,  llomaine,  and  Sumner.  Its  art?  — 
the  accomplishments  of  a  modern  day-school  go  beyond 
it.  With  faint  appreciation  of  scholarship,  ?jind  entire 
dif^like  of  philosophy,  it  seemed  studiously  to  repel  the 
{ij)proaches  of  intellectual  men  ;  and  accordingly  had 
been  illustrated  by  the  devotion  of  no  great  mind.  Its 
preachers,  imperceptive  of  the  English  standards  of 
fjood  taste  and  reverence,  could  hardlv  be  distinmiishcd 
from  Dissenters.  Its  creed,  an  endless  chain  of  inflex- 
ible links,  could  only  revolve  in  the  same  tcclmical 
groove,  and  could  npply  itself  to  no  resistance  tliat  lay 
out  of  its  meridian.  The  cold-blooded  rapture  with 
wliich  the  most  dismal  pictures  were  drawn  of  tiiis  re- 
deemed world,  and  a  divine  economy  sketched  wiiich 
tortures  every  moral  affection,  ])l:iinly  showed  that  the 
scheme  was  no  longer  realized,  and  had  [)assed  from  an 
inner  life  to  an  outward  opinion.  The  ecclesiastical 
doctrine  of  the  party  was  moreover  purely  Erastian, 
and  left  no  intelligible  barrier  to  separate  the  Anglican 
Churcii  from  the  crowd  of  Nonconformists  at  home, 
and  the  uncpiscopal  Protestants  abroad.  These  fea- 
tures liad  been  little  noticed  while  the  merits  which  bal- 
anced them  were  still  fresh  ;  while  the  race  of  idle  and 
worldly  clergymen  was  disapj)earing  before  the  new 
earnestness  ;  while  great  philanthropic  enterprises  were 
led  by  the  followers  of  Sinieon  ;  while  the  fact  remained 
conspicuous,  that  tiicre  was  a  Christianity  to  be  recov- 
ered for  the  land,  and  that  these  men  had  stepped  forth 
to  do  it.      But  in  the  third  decade  of  this  century  theii 


334  PERSOXAL    IXFLUKNCES 

"  first  «orks"  liad  grown  t'nniili:ir  ;  their  weaknesses  had 
become  fixed  ;  their  type  of  character  liad  cleared  itself 
of  its  accidents  and  taken  sh:ipe.  It  caught  the  fastid- 
ious eye  of  Oxford  ;  and  ere  long,  beneath  that  fine 
perception  all  the  blemishes  were  brought  out.  A 
series  of  criticisms  began,  at  first  cautious  and  respect- 
ful ;  but  gradually  assuming  a  wider  range  and  an  in- 
tenser  spirit,  they  assailed  the  Evangelical  party  with 
every  weapon  of  antipathy  which  could  be  drawn  from 
the  armory  of  imagination  or  logic,  Scripture  or  his- 
tory. The  weariness  and  distaste  felt  at  Oxford  to- 
wards the  Church-Calvinists  supplied  the  first  impulse 
to  the  Ti'actarian  movement ;  and  it  was  chiefly  with  a 
view  to  disjdafe  them  that  a  new  theology  was  advanced. 
As  its  lines  were  filled  in,  and  it  acquired  consistency 
and  dci)th,  a  positive  inspiration  of  genuine  faith  super- 
vened and  left  all  i)arty  passions  behind.  Tiie  great 
agent  in  this  work  was  John  lleni-y  Newman  ;  without 
an  estimate  of  whose  genius  and  influence  only  two- 
thirds  of  the  theological  history  of  contemporary 
Kngland  could  be  w-ritten.  In  him  and  the  Oxford 
ecclesiastical  re-actiun  we  have  our  first  source  of  the 
modern  development ;  not  exactly  first  in  time,  or  jjcr- 
ha])S  even  in  importance,  but  most  C()ns[)icuous  and  best- 
defined,  and  therefore  most  tempting  to  begin  with. 

The  sister  University  became  the  officina  of  no 
"  Tracts  ;  "  and  so  no  one  talks  of  a  "  Cambridge  theol- 
ogy." There  is  such  a  thing,  nevertheless;  —  at  least 
there  is  a  theology,  perfectly  distinct  and  characteristic 
of  the  age,  formed  by  Cambridge  men,  and  born  with 
the  impress  of  Cambridge  studies,  though  not  elabo- 
rated on  the  spot.      Coleridge  taught  at  Highgatc  ;   but 


ON    OUR    PRESENT    THEOLOGY.  335 

he  poetized  and  learned  at  Je^us  CollcLfc  lialf  a  century 
before  :  and  tlie  men  through  whom  eliieflv  his  Phitonic 
gospel  has  passed  into  the  heart  of  our  o-eneration, 
Julius  Hare  and  Frederick  ^Maurice,  acknowledged  the 
same  alma  mater.  To  those  who  are  familiar  with 
the  writings  of  these  eminent  teachers,  it  will  not  ap[)ear 
fanciful  if  we  trace  the  origin  of  the  school  to  intellec- 
tual revolt  against  their  acadendc  text-books,  Locke  and 
Paley.  Empirical  j)sychologj  and  utilitarian  ethics  are 
the  [)ermanent  o!)jects  of  Coleridge's  hostility  ;  and 
their  removal  is  with  him  the  prior  condition  of  any 
morality  or  religion  at  all.  It  was  reserved  for  Pro- 
fessors Sedgwick  and  Whewell,  at  a  later  time,  to 
dethrone  uj)on  the  spot  the  two  established  potentates  in 
],hilosophy.  But  the  murmurs  against  them  had  long 
been  gathering.  Their  school  had  not  stood  still,  and 
in  its  advance  had  become  encumbered  with  able  but 
inconvenient  allies  ;  betraying,  in  Bentham  and  James 
Mill,  the  tendencies  full-blown  Avhich  it  had  been  often 
reproached  with  secreting.  Long  before  the  Genius  of 
the  place,  starting  at  the  shadow  of  its  own  pliilosophy, 
recoiled  and  took  shelter  with  an  elder  faith,  the  sensi- 
tive and  religious  mind  of  CV)leridge  had  not  only  f)und 
refuge  there  for  himself,  but  opened  an  asylum  f  )r  other 
wanderers,  and  lighted  up  a  chain  of  posts  to  sh;)w  the 
way.  The  movement,  conunenced  in  re-action  from 
inadequate  metaphysics,  never  rested  till  it  found  the 
leuitimate  rei)ose  of  a  satisf\  inji'  theologv.  In  nan»ing 
the  accomplished  Chaplain  of  Lincoln's  Inn  as  flie  ui;)st 
distinguished  re[)resentati\e  of  this  type  of  i-cligi  )us 
thought,  we  do  not  overlook  the  marked  iudiv  idiiaHty 
which  assigns  to  him   a  place   of   his   own.      But    this 


336  TEUSONAL    INFLUENCES 

very  freedom  and  freshness  in  the  disolplo  wi!  l)o  found 
chnmctcristic,  as  of  Plato's  so  of  Coleiidge'i  disciples. 
Mr.  Maurice  may  well  protest  aijainst  the  al  urd  clas- 
sification which,  under  the  conmion  desig.  ation  of 
"Broad  Church,"  ranks  him  in  the  same  t  ries  with 
A\'hately,  Powell,  and  Williams,  —  men  \ /lose  first 
principles  and  whole  method  are  the  most  precise  con- 
tradictories of  his  own,  however  congenial  with  him 
they  may  be  in  resistance  to  unchristian  narrowness  and 
unworthy  fears.  But  he  has  always  affectionately 
claimed  his  affinity  with  the  author  of  the  Aids  to  lie- 
flection,  and  csinnot  be  displeased  if  we  seek  him,  with 
Julius  Hare,  in  the  parlor  of  the  Highgate  sage.  In 
the  philosophical  re-action  proceeding  thence  to  pene- 
trate the  whole  substance  of  Christianity,  we  find  the 
second  element  in  the  modern  development. 

It  would  be  a  curious  problem  of  literary  geography 
to  trace  the  stream  of  French  intellectual  influence 
which  has  passed  through  Edinburgh,  to  effect  its  infil- 
tration into  the  English  mind.  Certain  it  is  that  the 
action  of  continental  culture  on  North  Britain  has  been 
more  iinmediate  and  conspicuous  than  on  South  ;  and 
in  return,  the  writings  of  the  "  Sc<>ttish  school"  have 
met  with  a  recognition  in  Paris  and  Geneva  which  they 
never  obtained  in  iMigland.  The  genius  of  the  couiitiy 
inclines,  on  one  side,  to  the  Gallican  type  of  lieforme  I 
theology ;  on  the  other,  to  the  material  sciences  iii 
Avhich  Paris,  on  the  whole,  has  borne  the  palm.  Piay- 
fair,  Leslie,  and  Dugald  Stewart,  in  their  mathen)atical 
and  physical  ex[)()sitions,  have  the  |M>,culiar  impress  of 
French  neatness  and  precision.  David  Ilume,  scarcely 
English  in  his  style,  was  still  less  so  in  the  easy  play 


ox    OUIl    PlIESENT   THEOLOGY.  337 

of  his  logic,  and  tlie  careless  completeness  of  his  Pyr- 
rhonism. And  the  answers  which  his  own  countrymen 
gave  to  him  were  precisely  such  as  the  meta])hysical 
orthodoxy  of  the  Faculte  des  Lettres  approved  and 
reproduced.  Again  and  again  may  be  noticed  a  certain 
sympathetic  or  concurrent  change  in  the  speculative 
temj)erature  of  Edinburgh  and  Paris.  During  the 
depression  of  France  after  the  Kestoration,  tlie  re-action 
against  the  o[)inions  and  tastes  of  her  revolutionary 
period  was  everywhere  strong  in  Euroj)e  ;  and  met  in 
Edinburgh  with  no  check  from  any  fascinating  sys- 
tem or  powerful  mind.  The  phrenology  of  Gall,  the 
criticism  of  Jeffrey,  the  rhetoric  of  Brown,  could  not 
assuage  the  deeper  thirst  now  beginning  to  be  felt. 
k""o)nething  else  was  needed  than  a  new  form  of  the 
discarded  materialism,  and  freethinking,  and  sensation- 
alism of  the  last  age.  In  truth,  Scottish  logic  and  met- 
aphysics had  run  dry,  and  by  resort  to  them  was  no 
ba;)tism  of  regeneration  to  be  found.  ^\'hile  many  still 
wandered  there  in  hope,  there  came  out  of  the  desert  a 
Scottish  vates,  who  had  descried  an  unexhausted  s[)ring, 
and  led  the  way  to  it  by  strange  paths.  Thomas 
Carlyle  gave  the  first  clear  expression  to  the  strug- 
gling heart  of  a  desolate  yet  aspiring  time,  making  a 
clean  breast  of  many  stifled  unbeliefs  and  noble  hatreds  ; 
and  if  unable  to  find  any  certain  Saviour  for  the  pres- 
ent, at  least  preparing  some  love  and  reverence  to  sit, 
"clothed  and  in  right  mind,"  for  the  Divine  welcome, 
Avhenevcr  it  might  come.  Is  the  reader  siu-prised  that 
•we  keep  a  niche  for  the  author  oi'  Ilcro-Wors/u'p  in 
our  gallery  of  f//eo/o^i«;«6?  Be  it  so.  Tlie  ofticials  of 
St.  Stephen's  were  also  surprised  at  the  proposal  to  i»ut 


338  PERSONAL   INFLUENCES 

Croinwcirs  effiLTj  among  tlie  stntucs  of  (ho  kings.  W^e 
will  onl}^  say,  that  whoever  doubt?:  the  vuj^^t  influence  of 
Carlyle's  writings  on  the  inmost  faith  of  oiu-  generation, 
or  supposes  that  influence  to  he  wholly  disorganizing, 
misinterprets,  in  oin*  o|)iiiion,  the  symptoms  of  the  time, 
and  is  blinded  by  current  pinascology  to  essential  facts. 
With  this  conviction,  we  imist  trc.it  the  Utcrnrtj  re- 
action represented  by  him  as  the  third  element,  com- 
pleting the  modern  development. 

To  these  three  movements,  distinguished  by  the 
names  of  Newman,  Coleridge,  and  Carlyle,  must  be 
mainly  ascribed  the  altered  spirit,  in  regard  to  religion, 
pervading  the  young  intellect  of  England.  In  proceed- 
ing to  notice  them  one  by  one,  we  nnist  be  content 
with  a  slii>ht  glance  at  their  most  salient  features. 
And  we  must  wholly  pass  by  many  secondary,  though 
far  from  unimportant,  streams  of  separate  influence 
which  have  swelled  the  confluence  of  change.  The 
operation  of  Arnold's  life,  —  of  Whately's  writings, — 
of  Channing,  —  of  the  younger  Newman,  —  of  Theodore 
Parker,  —  of  Emerson,  —  on  the  temper  and  belief  of 
the  age,  has  in  each  case  been  considerable.  But  we 
limit  ourselves  to  the  propheUe  majores.  Moreover, 
it  is  only  on  the  fresh  ponwrs,  cutting  into  original 
directions,  and  making  roadways  of  thought  whci'e 
before  was  the  forest  or  the  flood,  that  we  propose  to 
dwell.  Whilst  tliese  have  been  working  their  way,  of 
course  the  old  tendencies  have  not  quitted  the  field,  or 
lost  their  hold.  The  elder  orthodoxies,  the  elder  scep- 
ticisms, of  established  type,  are  still  alive  ;  and  now 
and  then,  during  the  last  thirty  years,  have  put  forth 
Btai'tling  ro -assertions  of  their  vitality.     In  Comte  the 


DN    OUR    ritESEXT    THEOLOGY.  339 

physical,  in  Strauss  tlie  historical,  nc^jation  of  thcoL.oy, 
may  be  said  not  only  to  re-a[)pear,  but  to  culminate. 
And  each  of  these,  again,  has  its  group  of  related  phe- 
nomena :  the  Logic  of  Mill,  the  hypothesis  of  the  Vesti- 
ges (and,  we  would  add,  the  greater  part  of  the  replies), 
the  Psychology  of  Herbert  Si)encer,  and  the  propa- 
ganda of  Secularism,  tracing  the  course  of  the  Positiv- 
ist  tendency ;  while  the  freer  hand  which  scriptural 
criticism  everywhere  displays,  its  more  open  feeling  for 
the  human  element  in  the  gospel,  —  qualities  Avhich, 
most  conspicuous  abroad,  are  yet  familiar  to  us  in  Bun- 
sen,  Stanley,  and  «Towett,  —  indicate  a  direction  from 
which  the  Lehen  Jesu  has  rendered  it  impossible  to 
recede.  These,  however,  are  but  the  newest  steps  on 
beaten  tracks  of  thought.  Since  the  age  of  Bacon 
(nay,  for  that  matter,  from  the  days  of  Socrates),  we 
have  known  that  to  seek  only  natural  law,  was  the  way 
to  find  only  natural  law  ;  and  since  the  time  of  Seniler, 
there  is  no  excuse  for  surprise  if  the  critique  of  Scrip- 
ture persists  in  demanding  scmhc  modiiieation  of  our 
faith.  To  lay  down  the  true  bridge  from  inductive 
science  to  the  livinir  God,  —  to  settle  the  relation  be- 
tween  the  human  and  the  divine  factors  in  the  process 
and  monuments  of  revelation,  —  these  are  not  new  dif- 
ficulties ;  nor  is  it  an  original  device  to  fall  into  despair 
a^  them,  and  declare  that  the  problems  can  be  worked 
o'lly  on  their  finite  side.  C'omte  and  Strauss,  therefore, 
we  disregard,  at  present,  as  mere  contunifoicc-phi'iioni- 
ena,  —  rather  clenching  tl-.e  past  tlian  oixMiing  the 
future.  They  do  but  modify  the  eciiiilibrium  of  given 
conditions  :  and  our  purpose  is  to  describe  the  dynamic 
elements  which  have  introduced  unexj)ected  movement. 


340  PEItSONAL    INFLUENCES 

The  inarvcll!)U3  results  of  the  Iligh-Churcli  re-action 
have  nearly  effaced  the  remembrance  of  its  local  and 
personal  beginnings.  It  was  busy  at  Oxford  long  be- 
iore  tlie  first  "Tracts"  appeared;  under  an  as[)ect, 
however,  which  gave  little  [)r(»mise  of  the  JVew/iKin-ia 
(to  borrow  a  witticism  of  Whately's)  afterwanls  dcvel- 
<){)ed.  Some  thirteen  years  before  the  Tracts  were 
advertised,  two  undergraduates  had  an  epistolary  con- 
troversy together  on  the  subject  of  baptifmdl  reyenera- 
iion,'  and  the  correspondent  who  took  the  e  van  (/el  teal 
side  was  John  Henry  Newman.  The  doctrine,  there- 
fore, was  in  vogue  ere  its  appointed  advocate  was  con- 
verted. In  truth.  Dr.  Charles  Lloyd,  who  filled  the 
chair  of  Divinity  (Regius)  from  1822,  and  the  see  of 
Oxford  from  1827  till  his  death  in  1829,  was,  through- 
out this  period,  obnoxious  to  the  Evangelicals  as  the 
avowed  representative  of  an  opposite  school,  to  which 
also  Hawkins,  Pusey,  and  Keble  b(flongcd.  But  the 
"  Catholic "  tendency  of  this  group  of  friends  was 
marked  by  other  symptoms  than  the  later  Tractarian. 
Dr.  Newman  has  remarked,  that  "the  same  philosophi- 
cal elements"  will  "lead  one  mind  to  the  Cliurcli  of 
Kome  ;  another  to  what,  for  want  of  a  better  woid, 
may  be  called  Germanism."  *  He  is  pleased  to  add, 
that  the  determination  towards  the  Tiber  or  the  llhine 
will  depend  on  the  person's  "sensibility  or  insensibility 
to  sin."  Perhaps,  .also,  a  little  on  his  knowledge  or 
ignorance  of  the  German  language  and  literature ; 
without  some  access  to  which,  ^^  Germanism"  would 
seem  to  be  impossible,  and  therefore,  in  the  given  case, 
liomanism  inevitable.  The  Pra-Newmanites  at  Ox- 
*  Ivjsay  on  the  Development  of  Christian  Doctrine,  p.  71. 


ox    OUlt    PRESENT    THEOLOGY.  oil 

ford  wcx'e  not  unfurnished  witli  modern,  in  addition  to 
:uic-ient,  sc'nolarship ;  and,  aecordingly,  were  known 
to  look  with  hope  and  favor  on  the  aims  of  a  scientific 
theoloijy,  and  to  be  quite  abo\e  the  conventional  dis- 
paragement of  German  research  to  which  a  blind  cow- 
ardice resorts.  Indeed,  Dr.  Pusey's  first  publication, 
dedicated,  to  Bishop  Lloyd,  was  a  defence  *  of  the 
"  Theology  of  Germany  "  against  the  strictures  of  Mr. 
Kose  in  his  Cambridge  Universitij  /Scrmo)is.  This 
little  book,  which,  we  believe,  has  long  been  sui)pressed, 
bears  curious  witness  to  the  deflection  of  the  Oxford 
movement  from  its  original  path.  The  author  explains 
the  extravagances  of  liationalism  by  the  absurd  "  stilF- 
ness "  and  intolerable  "  orthodoxism "  which  preceded 
and  provoked  them  :  he  v.elcomes  the  aid  of  Kant  and 
Schclling  in  transition  to  a  higiier  faith  :  he  treats  the 
dangerous  crisis  as  over,  and  tlie  iicaltliy  renovation  of 
theology  as  in  progress.  Xor  are  his  j)articular  judg- 
ments of  n)cn  and  books  less  remarkable  than  tiie  general 
course  of  his  argument.  Of  Lessing  he  speaks  (p.  51) 
with  warm  affection,  as  "probably  more  ChrlsticDi,'''' 
des[)ite  his  sce])ticism,  than  his  orthodox  opponent  Goze  ; 
and  ([).  15(3)  as,  "perhaps  rightly,  preferring  Pantheism 
to  the  then  existing  systems."  lie  recognizes  ([).  177) 
l)e  Wette's  "  re:dly  Ciu-istian  faith,''  obscuicd  tiiough  it 
mii;ht  be  by  adiierence  to  the  philosopliy  of  Pries. 
8;'hleierm:!cher  receixes  (p.  115)  the  highc.-t  praise. 
Pretschiu'lder  is  Justilied  (p.  151)  1  ir  attem[)ting,  iu 
the  Prohahilid,  to  bi-ing  the  flohamiinc  (piestion  to  an 
issue.      And    it    is    strnuge    to    hear   ([>.    <S0)   from    th({ 

*  An  Historical  Iii(|iiii-y  iiit'.i  IIr'  pmlialik'  Causes  of  llic  Uatioiiaii.-t  Cliar- 
aclor  liitfly  pi-.-domiiiaiit  iii  tlu'  Tlu-old^^y  of  GLTiiiaiiy.  15y  K  Ji.  ru:-oy 
M.A..  Tcllow  ol'  Oriel  College,  Oxl'oid.     Vcti. 


342  PERSONAL   INFLUENCES 

nominal  father  of  "Puseyism,"  that  the  "gratia  minis- 
tei-ialitf," —  the  efficacy  of  the  sacraments  and  offices, 
though  admiiiisteret]  by  evil  men,  —  is  "an  absurd  and 
j)ernicious  fiction.*'  That  a  book  abounding  in  such 
estimates  should  be  laid  by  this  particular  autiior  at  the 
feet  of  an  Oxford  bishoj)  and  Regius  Professor ;  and 
that  the  successors  to  that  divinity  chair  should  be  first 
Dr.  Burton  and  then  Dr.  Hampden,  are  clear  indica- 
tions of  a  tiieological  tendency,  present  and  powerful 
in  the  early  years  of  the  anti-evangelical  movement,  but 
superseded  and  discharged  at  a  later  stage. 

In  1829,  Bishop  Lloyd  made  his  mortal  exit.  Super 
fluous  German  and  defective  "sensibility  to  sin  "  having 
thus  withdrawn  to  other  scenes,  there  was  room  for 
"the  same  philosophical  elements,"  with  proper  "sensi- 
bility" and  no  German,  to  enter  from  the  other  side, 
and,  slipping  to  the  front,  lead  on  whither  that  happy 
set  of  graces  tends.  For  a  while  it  seemed  doubtful 
which  of  the  two  paths  the  Oxford  High  Church  w.as  to 
take  —  Germanism  or  Romanism  —  theological  advance 
or  ecclesiastical  retrogression  :  and  the  events  of  that 
year  curiously  show  how  little  either  section  of  the 
l)arty  understood  its  own  instincts  and  could  take  its 
proper  attitude.  It  was  the  memorable  year  of  Catho- 
lic emancipation  and  Sir  Robert  Peel's  rejection  at 
Oxford.  At  that  election  we  find  Dr.  Pusey  among 
the  strenuous  supporters,  Dr.  Newman  among  tlie  velie- 
ment  opponents,  of  the  minister  and  his  Relief-bill : 
the  former  reputed  to  be  "one  of  tiie  most  liberal  mem- 
bers of  the  University,"  the  latter  in  close  "  union  with 
the  most  violent  bigots  "  of  "  the  No-popery  part}  ;  "  * 

•  Life  of  Blanco  White,  vol.  iii.  p.  131. 


ox    OUR    PUESEXT    TIIEOLOGY".  3l3 

the  future  Anglican  in  the  camp  of  tlie  Hberals  —  the 
future  Romanist  in  that  of  the  Orangemen  !  Yet  New- 
man had  already  betraved  the  tendencies  which  ere  Ions: 
possessed  him  entirely,  and  become  separated  by  thera 
irom  his  former  associates  of  the  same  school.  Xot 
only  had  his  private  opinions  opened  out,  from  1823— G, 
into  something  like  "  full-blown  Popery,"*  but  he  h:id 
evinced  on  their  behalf  that  unrivalled  power  of  per- 
sonal influence  which  few  sensitive  minds  can  resist, 
and  which  carries  with  it  a  restless  passion  for  its  own 
exercise.  He  was,  indeed,  foiled  in  his  first  conflict 
with  the  Evangelical  party,  and  in  his  first  attempt  to 
dictate  a  policy  to  his  own  ;  but  his  was  not  a  power 
which  depended  on  external  success  ;  it  was  a  spiritual 
ascendency,  yielding  like  the  air  to  local  strokes  of 
force,  but  I'emaining  circumambient  and  clastic  still. 
The  minute-book  of  tlic  Oxford  Auxiliary  Bible  Society 
probably  records  the  earliest  public  evidence  of  his 
alienation  fr.)ni  his  undergraduate  fiith.  Already  re- 
markable for  the  force  and  fervor  of  his  preaching, 
and  not  yet  an  object  of  theological  suspicion,  he  had 
been  appointed  third  secretary  to  the  society  in  182(1, 
on  the  suggestion  of  Dr.  Symons  (present  AVarden  of 
AVadham  College),  and  with  the  apjiroval  of  Dr. 
]\I' Bride  (nr>w  Principal  of  Magdalen  Hall),  and  other 
distinguished  supporters  of  the  Low  Clnu'ch.  No 
sooner  had  he  accepted  the  office  than  an  anonymous 
circular  appeared  on  the  breakfast-table  of  sundry 
clergymen  of  the  place,  lamenting  that  the  society  was 
in  the  hands  of  the  low  p:u-ty  ;  mging  the  importance 
of  effecting  a   change,  and   pointing  out  a  lule  which 

•  See  F.  W.  Xcwmans  I'liasts  of  Faitli.  \>.  11. 


344  PERSONAL   IXFLUENCES 

conferred  a  vote  on  every  clerical  subscription  of  half-a- 
guinca.  It  was  soon  whispered  that  tliis  paper  was  not 
unknown  to  the  new  secretary  ;  thouj^h  one  at  least  of 
his  near  friends  felt  secure  in  denying  his  connection 
with  it,  and  was  [)roportionately  disturbed  to  find  it 
really  his  production.  The  design,  thus  commenced  in 
secret,  soon  threw  off  all  disguise.  The  draft  of  the 
annual  report,  drawn  up  in  the  usual  unctuous  style 
by  the  first  secretary,  Mr.  Hill  (Vice-Principal  of  St. 
Edmund's  Hall),  came  before  the  committee  for  discus- 
sion. The  new  secretary  moved  some  two  hundred 
and  fifty  amendments,  which  would  have  struck  out 
all  the  Scrij>ture  adaptations  and  "  gracious  "  jargon 
from  the  document,  and  turned  it  into  such  lilnglish  as 
he  might  use.  lie  lost  his  amen<liiicr.ts,  —  his  office, — 
.ijul  all  further  confidence  from  the  Kvangelic.il  i)arty. 

The  loss,  however,  of  his  tutorship  in  Oriel,  involv- 
ing as  it  did  a  breach  with  Dr.  Ilawkiiis  (the  Provost), 
was  more  significant  in  relation  to  the  subsequent  course 
of  Anglicanism.  In  conjunction  with  two  out  of  three 
co-tutors  (the  elder  Fronde  and  Mr.  [afterwards  Arch- 
deacon] Robert  Isaac  Wilberforcc),  he  had  requested 
that  the  Oriel  men  might  be  distributed  into  four  sepa- 
rate sets  ;  and  that  of  these,  one  might  be  assigned  to 
cacii  tutor  as  his  pastoral  charge.  The  request  was 
refused  by  the  Provost,  on  the  reasonable  ground  that, 
by  the  proposed  arrangement,  the  students  would  fall, 
in  each  case,  under  the  exclusive  power  of  one  man's 
mind,  instead  of  experiencing,  as  was  intended,  the 
infiuence  of  the  whole  tutorial  body.  The  disappoint- 
ed petitioners  resigned  :  and  from  tliat  moment  the 
preacher    at    St.    Mary's,    checked    in    his    operations 


ox    OUK    PltESEXT    THEOLOGY.  345 

within  his  college,  laid  himself  out  for  religious  action 
beyond  its  walls,  and  raised  his  Church  and  Little- 
more  into  a  power  of  the  first  order  in  the  histor} 
of  English  religion. 

The  death  of  Dr.  Lloyd  remo\  cd  his  chief  external 
check  at  a  time  when  liis  internal  resources  for  influence 
were  fast  maturing.  The  Divinity  chair  and  the  epis- 
copal oflBce  were  no  longer  united  ;  and  scientific  theol- 
ogy lost  the  shelter  of  the  mitre.  The  subtle  intellect 
and  resolute  will  of  John  Henry  Xewman  were  left  witli- 
out  a  rival :  not  indisposed  to  crush  as  dangerous  the 
explorations  of  German  criticism,  which  probably  sug- 
gested nothing  but  scepticisms  to  his  outside  gaze  ;  and 
impelled  to  oi'ganizc,  out  of  the  safer  materials  of 
patristic  and  ecclesiastical  literature,  where  he  was  at 
home,  a  scheme  of  doctrine  with  clear  passages  between 
the  parts,  with  connnodious  stowing-place  for  every 
doubt,  and  foundations  buried  out  of  sight.  We  pre- 
sume it  must  be  ascribed  to  the  influence  of  his  friend, 
that  Dr.  Pusey  never  followed  up  the  direction  on 
which  he  had  so  well  entered  in  his  "Inquiry"  concern- 
ing Rationalism  ;  and  tliat  a  few  years  later  (in  1836) 
he  was  ready,  in  his  turn,,  to  employ  against  Dr. 
Hampden  the  very  same  unworthy  weapons  which  he 
had  wrested  from  the  hand  of  Mr.  Itose.  A\'hcn  Jie  had 
succumbed,  all  ambiguity  as  to  the  course  of  the  move- 
ment ceased.  The  assault  on  Evangelicisu)  from  the 
side  of  fiee  learning  was  silent;  the  guns  spiked, 
the  batteries  aband(med.  All  was  to  be  done  from  the 
entrenched  positions  of  Past  Authority,  and  the  com- 
munications surrendered  with  the  open  road  of  Future 
Truth.     Though  some  cautious  years  had  still  to  pass 


346  PERSONAL   INFLUENCES 

ere  the  full  bearings  of  the  new  system  were  displayed, 
the  absence  of  divided  command  accelerated  its  devel- 
opment, and  simplify  its  hi:?tory.  The  preacher  of  St. 
Mary's  was  undisputed  clioregus:  and  the  analysis  of 
his  personal  theology  preserves  the  essence  of  the  whole 
re-actlon. 

Whence  arises  that  strange  mixture  of  admiration 
and  of  distrust,  of  which  most  readers  and  hearers  of 
John  Henry  Newman  are  conscious  ?  Often  as  he  car- 
ries us  away  by  his  close  dialectic,  his  wonderful  read- 
ings of  the  human  heart,  his  tender  or  indignant  fervor, 
there  remains  a  small  dark  speck  of  misgiving  which 
we  can  never  wipe  out.  The  secret  perhaps  lies  in  this, 
—  that  his  own  faith  is  an  escape  from  an  alternative 
scepticism,  which  receives  the  veto  not  of  his  reason, 
but  of  his  will.  lie  has,  after  all,  the  critical,  not  the 
prophetic  mind.  He  wants  immed lateness  of  religious 
vision.  Instead  of  finding  his  eye  clearer  and  his  foot 
firmer  the  deeper  he  sinks  towards  the  ultimate  ground 
of  trust,  he  hints  that  the  light  is  precarious,  and  that 
your  step  may  chance  on  the  water  or  the  rock  in  that 
abysmal  realm.  The  tendency  of  the  purest  religious 
insight  is  ever  to  quit  superficial  and  derivative  beliefs, 
and  seek  the  primitive  roots  where  the  finite  draws  life 
from  the  Infinite.  The  awfulness  of  that  position,  tlie 
direct  contact  of  the  human  spirit  with  the  Divine, 
the  loneliness  of  communion  when  all  media  of  church 
and  usage  are  removed,  do  not  ap[)all  the  piety  of 
noblest  mood.  With  Dr.  Newman  the  order  is  re- 
versed. He  loves  to  work  in  the  \ipper  strata  of  the 
minds  with  which  he  deals,  detecting  their  inconsist- 
encies, balancing  their  wants,  satisfying  them  with  the 


ON    OUR    PRESENT    THEOLOG-i  347 

mere  colicrcnce  and  relative  .sufficicnoy  of  their  belief, 
but  encoiir.'iiiing-  tbeni  to  shrink  from  the  last  question- 
mgn.  AVith  himself,  indeed,  he  sometimes  goes  deeper, 
and  descends  towards  the  bases  of  all  devout  belief; 
but  evidently  with  less  of  assurance  as  his  steps  pass 
down.  The  ground  feels  to  him  less  and  less  solid 
Jis  he  penetrates  from  the  deposits  of  recent  experience 
into  the  inner  laboratory  of  the  World  ;  and  it  is  only 
when  he  stands  upon  the  crust,  and  takes  it  as  it  is, 
that  he  loses  the  fear  lest  it  rest  upon  the  Hood.  His 
certainties  are  on  the  surface,  and  his  insecurities  below. 
AVith  men  of  op]^osite  chai-acter,  often  reputed  to  be 
sceptical,  doubt  is  at  the  top,  and  is  but  as  the  swaying 
of  water  that  is  calm  below,  and  sleeps  in  its  entire 
mass  within  its  granite  cradle.  lie  seems  to  say  within 
himself,  "  There  is  no  bottom  to  these  things  that  1  can 
find;  we  must  therefore  p?<^  one  there;  and  only  mind 
that  it  be  sufficient  to  hold  them  in,  supposing  it  to  be 
real."  He  deals,  in  short,  with  the  first  truths  of  reli- 
gion as  hf/potheses,  not  known  or  knowable  in  them- 
selves, but  recommended  by  the  sufficient  account  they 
give  of  the  facts,  and  the  practical  fitness  of  belief 
in  them  to  our  nature.  He  denies  the  existence  for 
our  mind  of  any  thing  uvvnoOernr,  and  treats  even  our 
highest  persuasions  as  a  provisional  discipline,  whole- 
some for  us  to  retain,  whether  they  be  harndess  errors 
or  eternal  truths.  Nor  is  this  radical  scepticism  merely 
implied  at  second-hand  :  it  receives  direct  and  re;)e:ited 
statement  as  a  philosopliioal  principle.  In  his  Histoiy 
of  the  Arians,*  the  author  explains  the  distinction 
drawn   by  the  Fathers   between  (^so/.oyiu  and  ot/Miouia^ 

•  Pages  43,  44. 


818  PERSONAL   INFT.UENCE8 

between  i»l)?olute  nnd  relative  tnitli  in  regrrd  to  God. 
An  "economy,"  we  are  told,  is  a  representation  not  coi- 
respondinu  with  the  real  nature  of  things,  but  reduced 
into  adaptation  to  our  faculties,  and  substituted  for  the 
truth  in  condescension  to  our  incapacity.  It  is  not 
sinijdy  the  broken  view  which  alone  wjc  can  seize  of 
transcendent  realities,  jriven  for  aj)prehensiou  but  not 
yet  apjirehcnded  ;  it  is  a  "pious  fraud,"  —  a  benevolent 
cheat,  —  directly  put  upon  us  by  the  Creator  himself, 
to  stand  as  the  moral  ccpiivalcnt  of  a  missing  verity. 
Now,  what  does  the  author  include  under  this  class  of 
representative  illusions?  Does  he,  like  the  Fathers, 
confine  the  ap[)lication  to  the  doctrine  of  the  Incarna- 
tion and  historical  manifestation  of  God  in  Christ,  as 
opposed  to  his  inner  and  AI)S()luto  Essence?  Far  from 
it.  He  reduces  to  the  same  head  the  revelation  to  us 
of  moral  laws;  and  the  sugLrcsti!)n,  by  sensible  phe- 
nomena, of  an  external  tnaterial  world;  and  the 
aspect  of  desicjn  and  piirpoi^e  which  the  cosmical 
order  assumes  in  the  eyes  of  "  the  nndtitude."  Are 
these  things,  then,  —  these  porphyry  pillars  on  which 
our  very  life  is  raised,  —  nothing  but  aj)pearance, — 
"shadows,"  "beguiling  the  imaginations  of  most  men 
with  a  harmless  but  unfounded  belief"?  So  does  our 
author  regard  them  :  and  in  his  idealism  saves  nothing 
whatever,  so  far  as  we  can  find,  from  the  reabu  of  fan- 
tasy. Alike  in  the  world  of  sense  and  in  the  temple 
of  the  spirit  "n)an  walketh  in  a  vain  show."  In  this 
way  the  very  antithesis  from  which  he  starts  disappears  : 
he  gives  such  an  extension  to  the  system  of  economy  as 
to  swallow  up  the  theolorjij  altogether,  and  to  present 
God  to  us  as  never  and  nowhere  doing  any  thing  but 


ON    OUR    PRESENT    THEOLOGY.  349 

"siniuluting"  on  our  belmlf.  Not  only  :xre  we  kept  at 
a  distance  from  all  realities  ;  but  the  representations 
amid  which  our  minds  are  imprisoned  are,  or  may  be, 
Jal.se  representations;  —  false  in  the  same  way  and 
dep'ce  as  the  assertion  that  the  Mosaic  dispensation 
was  imchangeable,  though  all  the  while  it  was  destined 
to  be  abolished.  Alas  !  have  we  here  no  key  to  our  au- 
thor's fondness  for  an  esoteric  and  exoteric  presentation 
of  doctrine? — for  a  mystical  as  well  as  a  literal  exe- 
gesis?—  for  a  discipllnii.  arcanl?  —  for  donhJing  the 
aspect  and  expression  of  all  that  is  offered  as  truth?  If 
the  universe  and  God  set  the  example  of  being  scenical, 
what  shall  hinder  religion  from  becoming  histrionic? 

The  hypothetical  nature  of  even  the  most  funda- 
mental propositions  in  tlicology, — their  dependence  on 
assumptions  which  nut  our  vision  but  our  blindness 
compels  us  to  make,  —  is  strongly  asserted  in  the  fol- 
lowing paragraj)h  of  the  fourteenth  Univei'sity  Sermon  ; 
on  the  Theory  of  Developments  in  religious  doctrine  : 

"  It  is  true  that  God  is  without  beginninjj;,  if  eternity  mjiy 
worthily  be  considered  to  ini|)ly  succession  ;  in  every  place, 
(/'  lie  who  is  a  8|)irit  can  have  relations  with  spare.  It  is 
i-ight  to  speak  of  His  Being  and  Attributes,  if  He  be  not 
rather  super-essential;  it  is  true  to  say  tiiat  He  is  wise  or 
|)owerrnl,  If  we  may  eonsicU'i-  Him  as  oilier  than  the  most 
simple  Unity.  He  is  truly  Tln-ec,  //"  He  is  truly  One;  He;  is 
truly  One,  if  the  idea  of  Him  falls  under  earthly  numher. 
He  has  a  triple  Personality  in  the  sense  in  wliieli  the  Inlinite 
can  he  und(MStood  to  have;  Personality  at  all.  //'  we  know 
anything  of  Him,  —  //'  ue  may  speak  of  Him  in  any  way, 
if  we  may  emerge  from  Atheism  or  Pantheism  into  religious 
lailli,  —  if  we  would  have  any  saving  hope,  any  life  of  truth 
aud  holiness  within  us, —  this  only  do  we  kuow,  with  this  on\y 


350  PERSONAL   INFLUENCES 

coufcssion  we  must  begin  und  oikI  our  worship, —  tliat  the 
Father  is  the  One  God,  the  Son  the  One  God,  and  the  Holy 
Gljost  the  One  God;  and  that  tlie  Father  is  not  the  Son,  tlie 
Son  not  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  the  Holy  Ghost  not  the  Father." 
(p.  353.) 

To  a  faith  thus  contingent  on  certain  prior  assump- 
tions there  could  be  no  valid  objection,  if  the  as- 
sumptions themselves  are  regarded  as  unconditionally 
sure.  But  the  fatal  thing  is  this,  that  every  one  of  them 
is  regarded  by  the  author  as  an  "economy" — as  referable 
not  to  our  knowledge  but  to  our  nescience  —  as  rather 
a  TiQarov  ifjsvSog  than  a  genuine  "first  truth."  Reason 
would  as  soon  suspect  as  trust  them;  —  nay,  it  is 
reason  that  traces  them  to  their  seat  in  our  feebleness 
and  incapacity,  and  enables  us  to  |)ut  the  case  of  their 
being  false.  If,  in  a  fit  of  ca|)rice,  you  choose  to 
throw  them  all  away  and  substitute  their  opposites,  no 
one  can  show  rational  cause  against  you,  or  dispute  the 
philosophical  adequacy  of  your  new  hypothesis.  JJoth 
doctrines,  atheism  and  theism,  our  author  more  than 
once  intimates,  are  theories  that  will  hold  water.  "  It 
is  indeed,"  he  says,  "a  great  question  whether  atheism 
is  not  as  philosophically  consistent  with  the  phenomena 
of  the  physical  world,  taken  by  themselves,  as  the  doc- 
trine of  a  creative  and  governing  Power."*  In  pre- 
ferring the  religious  interpretation  of  the  universe,  we 
seize  an  hypothesis  at  a  venture,  impelled-  by  the  [)re- 
f.umptions  of  a  good  heart. 

On  every  account  we  object  to  this  statement  of  tlie 
ultimate  grounds  of  religion.  The  author  concedes  fir 
too  much  to  the  atheistic  doctrine ;  and  by  treating  it 

*  University  Scnpons,  chiefly  on  Uie  Theory  of  Religious  Belief,  p.  180. 


ox    OUR    n:ESE.\T    THEOLOGY.  351 

Rti  an  ]i>jpotkesifi  put.s  it  to  a  wron^  test :  for  tlie  ques- 
tion is,  not  whether  its  premises,  if  true,  will  cover 
the  plienoniena ;  but  whetlicr  its  premises  (e.^.  its 
n-jtions  of  Force,  Causation,  Law)  are  true,  or,  on 
the  contrary,  confused  and  self-contradictory.  PIo 
establishes  a  false  variance  between  the  rational  and 
the  moral  faculties  of  the  soul,  and  in  consequence 
between  philosophical  and  religious  evidence  ;  so  that 
Ave  are  made  to  lose  a  truth  by  the  one  and  then  recover 
it  by  the  other.  Speculative  Reason  sends  us  to  the 
Gazette,  but  Practical  Reason  steps  in  with  copious 
assets  and  discharges  every  claim.  AVe  dislike  to  be 
made  the  sport  of  these  experiments  between  imaginary 
rivals  :  we  object  to  being  drowned  in  the  sea  of  specu- 
lation, just  that  the  Humane  Society  of  practical  prin- 
ciples may  rub  us  into  life  again.  The  intellectual 
and  the  moral  functions  of  our  nature  have  one  and 
the  same  inspiration,  —  gain  their  vision  by  one  and  the 
same  light ;  and  it  is  only  by  a  trick  of  artificial  ab- 
straction tiiat  faith  can  be  said  to  suffer  ruin  from  the 
one  and  receive  rescue  by  the  other.  The  postulates 
of  morals  stand,  in  their  own  right,  as  first  principles 
in  philosophy.  But  the  cssei>.tial  fault  of  our  author's 
foundation  lies  in  his  Idealism.  That  the  existence 
and  perfection  of  God,  —  that  the  coufiict  of  moral 
law  with  lower  nature,  —  should  be  no  more  certain 
than  the  reality  of  an  outward  world,  we  may  content- 
edly allow,  provided  that  outward  world  be  left  to  us  as 
an  iunnediate  object,  positively  given  to  our  knowledge 
by  a  veracious  faculty.  This,  however,  is  precisely 
what  Dr.  Newman  refuses  to  us.  He  treats  the  notion 
of  a  material  universe  as  an  "  unfounded  belief,"  neu- 


852  TERSONAL   INFLUENCES 

tral  at  best  as  to  truth  or  falsehood.  •  Our  moral  i'aith, 
our  relii^ious  faith,  he  sets  on  the  satne  footing  with  our 
natural  realism  ;  and  then  slips  that  realism  away  as  a 
harmless  beguilement,  "simulating"  yet  masking  the 
inaccessible  fact.*  The  logical  consequence  is  evident 
—  is  probably  meant  to  be  evident ;  for  sceptical  deso- 
lation is  found  to  be  the  best  preparative  for  the  shelter 
of  an  authoritative  church. 

The  relation  of  faith  to  reason  is  traced  by  Dr.  New- 
man with  a  fineness  and  general  truth  of  discrimination 
that  remind  ua  of  Butler. -j-  He  rejects  the  rationalist 
conceptions  of  faith,  as  either  the  purely  intellectual  act 
of  believing  on  testimonial  and  other  secondary  evi- 
dence, or  the  purely  moral  act  of  carrying  out  by  the 
will  what  has  been  acccei)ted  by  the  understanding. 
The  former  confounds  it  with  opinion  ;  the  latter  with 
obedience.  He  does  not  narrow  the  term  to  the  Luth- 
eran dimensions,  to  denote  a  reliant  affection  towards 
a  person,  and  imply  a  grace  peculiar  to  the  Cliristian 
and  Jewish  dispensations.  It  is  a  moral  act  of  reason^ 
believing,  at  the  instigation  of  reverence  and  love, 
something  which  goes  beyond  the  severe  requirements 
of  the  evidence.  In  matters  of  pure  science,  where 
we  have  to  do  with  mere  nature,  the  mind  simply  fol- 
lows the  vestiges  of  proof.  But  in  concerns  of  man 
and  God  we  necessarily  carry  into  every  process  of 
judgment  antecedent  prosum])ti()ns  which  color  our 
whole  thought,  and  inter[)ret  for  us  the  external  signs 
given  to  direct  us.  To  a  cold  intellect  these  presump- 
tions will  be  wanting ;  and  it  will  construe  the  spiritual 

*  ArianB  of  the  Fourth  Century,  pp.  44,  45.     University  Sermons,  p.  350. 
\  See  espocially  University  Senuous,  ix.  x.  xi.     Kssay  on  Development, 
ch.  vi.  f  2. 


ON    OUR    PRESENT    THEOLOGY.  353 

as  if  it  were  physical.  To  a  bad  heart  tliey  will  be 
dark  suspicions  ;  and  it  will  believe  its  own  shadow. 
Tg  an  affectionate,  faithful,  humble  n)ind  they  will  be 
clear  trusts  ;  and  it  will  "think  no  evil,"  and  "hope  all 
things."  It  is  in  this  yielding  of  the  reason  to  the  bet- 
ter suggestion  —  this  casting  of  one's  lot  with  the  higher 
])ossibility,  that  faith  consists.  Obedience  to  conscience 
partakes  therefore  of  the  nature  of  faith;*  and  iin})lies, 
wherever  found,  a  seed  of  grace  and  an  oft'er  of  salva- 
tion. The  great  heathen  world  is  thus  brought  within 
the  com])ass  of  a  divine  probation  ;  and  faithful  men, 
true  to  their  o-ifts  and  i>uidance,  are  scattered  throu^.'h 
all  lands  and  ages.  It  is  characteristic  of  the  judg- 
ments of  faith,  that  they  are  immediate  and  intuitive, 
detached  and  unsystematic  ;  whilst  those  of  wisdom  are 
mediate  and  reilective  —  the  explicit  and  connected  con- 
tents of  implicit  acts  of  trust.  Wisdom  is  therefore 
the  end  of  that  Christian  culture  of  which  faith  is  the 
beginning,!  the  tniGxi^nq  of  morals,  as  opposed  to  mere 
dXr/J/^g  do^u.  It  springs  from  the  exercise  of  Reason 
on  the  data  of  Faith.  The  same  Reason,  exercised  on 
the  data  of  Sense  and  Perception,  constitutes  the  scien- 
tific intellect ;  whose  scrutiny,  thus  working  in  alio 
genere,  can  never  alight  upon  moral  discoveries,  or 
replace  what  has  been  let  slip  through  non-accei)tance 
of  the  presumptions  of  Conscience.  Here  lies  the 
great  mistake  of  Protestants,  who  begin  with  inquiry, 
expecting  to  end  with  fiith  —  "grapes  from  thorns, 
and  figs  from  thistles."  Catholics,  on  the  other  hand, 
begin  with   faith,    and   develop  it  by  inquiry;  J    rever 

*  Univorsity  Sermons,  ii.  '  p.  10  ct  in:<\<\.  t  Ibid.  xiii.  p.  288. 

X  Loss  and  Gain,  p.  103. 

23 


3.')4  PERSONAL    INFLUENCES 


ently  taking  the  divine  instincts,  and  drawing  ont  llicir 
hidden  oracles  into  the  s}Mnnietry  of  a  holy  |)]iilos()[)hy. 
In  this  view  the  very  materials  of  religious  knowledge 
are  present  only  to  the  tact  of  a  [)ure  heart ;  and  onr 
author  is  quite  self-consistent  when  he  affirms,  in  lan- 
guage curiously  coinciding  with  his  brother's,  that  the 
moral  sense — the  "  spiritual  discernment"  —  is  the  le- 
gitimate judge  of  religious  truth  ;  the  intellect  having 
oidy  to  prepare  the  case  and  watch  it  with  negative  ami 
corrective  function.* 

In  its  broad  features;  its  linking  of  moral  with  reli- 
gious reverence  ;  its  separation  of  conscience  from 
understanding  ;  its  distinction  between  implicit  and  ex- 
plicit truth,  —  this  theory  of  faith  contrasts  favorably 
both  with  the  evangelical  no-theory  and  the  ration- 
alist wrong  theory.  Did  the  author  never  quit  its 
systematic  statement,  or,  in  quitting  it  for  concrete 
application,  never  transgress  its  terms,  we  should  thank 
him  for  removing  old  errors  without  remonstrance  for 
introducing  new.  When,  however,  we  turn  froni  his 
disquisitions  to  his  tales,  and  observe  the  use  to  which 
he  puts  his  doctrine  in  practical  life,  we  start  back  in 
dismay,  and  ask  ourselves  whether  what  we  had  so 
much  approved  in  thought  can  issue  in  what  we  must 
utterly  disapprove  in  action  ?  In  the  sermons  we  seem 
to  understand  the  statements,  and  with  full  heart  assent 
to  them  that  "faith  must  venture  something ;"  that  in 
order  to  finish  by  knowing,  you  must  commence  by  trust- 
ing ;  that  self-surrender  in  the  dark  to  conscience  clears 
up  into  open-eyed  wisdom.  Nor  should  we  seriously  ob- 
ject to  the  exhortation,  ^^ Believe  first,  and  convcclion 

*  Uuivcrsity  Sermons,  iii.  pp  40,  44,  45. 


ON    OUR    PRESENT    THEOLOGY.  '    r>")5 

will  follow,"  so  long  as  we  may  construe  the"bolicr' 
to  mean  simple  reliance  on  instinctive  impressions  of 
the  good  and  true,  and  the  "conviction,"  a  reflective 
apprehension  of  ihexv  ground ;  and  may  tiierefore  read 
the  lesson  thus  :  "  You  must  do  the  right  before  you 
can  knoio  it."  First,  however,  an  uneasy  wonder  stops 
us  when  we  are  told  that  in  early  times  men  became 
(yhristians,  not  because  tliey  believed,  but  in  order  to 
believe;*  and  tliat  the  chara(;teristic  dDCti'ines  of  the 
Gospel  were  not  oflered  to  them  till  after  they  hid 
bound  themselves  to  the  church  by  baptism.  Next,  the 
i-eal  meaning  of  these  ill-favored  general  statements 
becomes  shamefully  apparent  in  a  particular  instance  in 
Loss  and  C-ruin,  where  the  her;),  w  puzzled  Protestant, 
unsatisfied  with  English  chtu•ch-p;u•tie^•,  but  an  (entire 
stranger  to  the  Kitmnnist  system  and  worshij),  is  pas- 
sionately urged  by  a  recently  "  pcrveitcd "  friend  to 
take  his  hat  and  walk  straight  away  into  confession  and 
adoption.  He  does  not  at  tiie  moment  yield  to  the 
advice ;  but  a  little  later  he  follows  it,  without  any 
gi-eat  advance  in  his  mental  i)rej)aration,  and  bef>re 
ever  witnessing  a  sc:-\ice  in  a  Catholic  church.  j^iuis 
is  the  word  "faith  "  degraded  to  the  sense  of  "  trying 
the  experiment  of  annnknown  religion,  and  obeying  it 
at  hazard  ;"  and  has  no  further  refei'cnce  to  conscience^ 
which  stands  quite  neutral  towards  a  church  not  yet 
appreciated.  There  is  still,  however,  a  lower  step  to 
be  taken.  Dr.  Newman  does  not  attempt  to  disguise 
the  shock  jjiven  to  the  moral  feeling  and  taste  of  new- 
comers  by  many  things  inseparable  from  Romanism. 
How  does  he  counsel  them   to  deal  with  their  distress? 

*  Allans,  j>.  78,     [,ipss  and  Gaiii.  p.  313. 


S5G  PEHSOXAL    INFLUENCES 

To  respect  it  as  a  sacred  si<;n?  to  follow  their  own 
liigliest  perception  at  all  risks?  No;  but  to  suppress 
and  sinotlier  it ;  to  consider  that  they  must  not  expect 
to  get  through  without  dirt,  and  to  hope  that  things 
will  look  cleaner  when  the  eye  has  become  used  to 
them.  And  this,  pi'oh  pudor!  he  also  calls  "faith;" 
having  at  last  turned  it  right  round,  and  brought  it 
to  mean  the  co7itradictio7i  of  conscience,  —  the  placid 
swallowing  of  what  is  oftcnsive  to  the  moral  sense.  In 
short,  he  makes  it  convertible  with  mere  "  talcing  on 
trust"  without  regard  to  the  felt  quality  of  the  thing 
taken.  Whether  you  yield  to  wliat  commands,  or  to 
what  scandalizes,  your  natural  reverence,  you  equally 
satisfy  the  conditions  of  our  author's  "faith."  The 
Avord  thus  becomes  an  engine  that  will  work  either  in 
advance  or  in  reverse  :  whether  you  believe  your  con- 
science or  disbelieve,  it  keeps  you  on  the  pious  track. 

'J'hc  practice  of  professing  a  ci'ced  "  in  order  to  be- 
lieve "  has  h)ng  been  a  favorite  with  the  casuistry  of 
Oxford.  Arnold,  troubled  with  doubts  about  the  doc- 
trine of  the  Trinity,  was  recommended  by  his  friend 
Keble  to  take  a  paiish,  and  avow  the  doctrine  several 
times  per  week,  and  multiply  the  meshes  of  his  entan- 
glement with  it.  Kvery  Oxford  tutor,  we  believe,  could 
quote  instances  in  which  scepticism  of  greater  extent 
lias  been  met  with  similar  advice.  AVithout  discussing 
the  pleas  advanced  in  defence  of  such  coimsels,  we  will 
test  their  character  by  an  imaginary  case,  exhibiting 
the  conditions,  in  the  simplest  form.  In  a  religious  ami 
highly  accomplished  family,  connected  on  all  hands  with 
the  chiu'ch,  an  erring  son,  let  us  suppose,  becomea 
enamored    of   the    "  doctrine    of   circumstances ; ''    and 


ON    OUR    TRESENT    THEOLOGY.  357 

passing  through  the  mere  fatalistic  stage,  settles  into 
resolute  and  open-eyed  atheism.  No  nobleness  of 
character  or  confusion  of  thought  beguiles  him  (as  hap- 
])ier  natures  are  beguiled)  into  the  illusion  that  moral 
distinctions  remain  when  divine  realities  are  gone  :  and 
his  life  exhibits  no  violent  inconsistency  with  a  creed 
which  disclaims  responsibility.  Among  his  numerous 
clerical  connections,  one,  we  will  suppose,  is  captivated 
with  the  new  formula,  that  men  are  to  become  members 
of  the  church  not  "  because  they  believe,  but  in  order 
to  believe:"  and,  acting  on  this  rule,  addresses  him  to 
the  following  effect :  "You  say  you  disbelieve  the  exist- 
ence of  a  God  ;  but  you  are  in  no  condition  to  judge, 
for  you  have  never  tried  the  hypothesis  of  theism. 
Your  first  step  must  be  to  grant  it  for  experiment's 
sake,  to  act  as  if  there  were  a  God,  and  become  a 
^*ai.s7'-Christian.  Join  the  church  ;  diligently  profess 
the  creeds  ;  take  the  sacrament ;  be  constant  in  your 
prayers  ;  expostulate  with  the  heresies  of  others  ;  and 
in  due  time  belief  will  fullotv."  It  is  easier,  perhaps, 
to  conceive  such  counsels  offered  than  to  imagine  them 
accepted.  For  completeness'  sake,  however,  let  ua 
suppose  their  influence  for  the  moment  to  prevail.  A 
sudden  transformation  is  visible.  The  atheist  looks  up 
his  jtrayer-book,  and  is  seen  twice  a  day  at  church  : 
he  audibly  says,  "I  believe  in  one  God,  the  Fathcr 
Almighty,  &C.  ;"  he  bows  to  the  east  at  the  name 
of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ;  he  hears  the  warning  from 
the  altar  to  "search  his  own  conscience"  '^  not  after  tlio 
manner  of  dissemblers  with  God"  and  answers  it  by 
boldly  partaking  at  "the  holy  table."  lie  plays  the 
Pharisee   towards   pure   and   pious  friends,  needing  his 


358  PERSONAL    IXFLUEXCES 

rebuke  for  their  "  neologicul "  tcndcneics.  His  fictitious 
zeal  at  last  outstrips  the  pace  of  his  spiritual  counsel- 
lor ;  to  wliom  he  points  out  certain  worldly-minded 
friends  as  requiring  to  be  brought  to  a  "  sense  of  their 
condition."  The  clergyman  declining  so  delicate  an 
office,  the  spell  of  his  influence  is  broken;  his  hope- 
ful novice  throws  up  with  disgust  "  the  hypothesis  of  a 
God,"  relapses  into  the  atheism  which  had  never  really 
left  him  for  an  hour  :  and  "Ricliard  is  himself  again." 

That  we  have  not  misconceived  the  natural  issue  of 
this  sort  of  experiment,  critics  of  human  nature  will 
perhaps  allow.  That  the  experiment  itself  is  a  legiti- 
mate offspring  of  the  parent  maxim,  the  logical  reader 
will  hardly  question.  But  between  logic  and  life,  it 
will  be  said,  bridges  are  scarce  ;  and,  in  practice,  these 
extreme  cases  never  find  the  means  to  cross.  Those 
who  speak  thus  can  have  had  little  access  to  the  inner 
history  of  the  present  age.  When  the  time  comes  for 
its  sincerest  biogra[)liies  to  appear,  the  truth  will  often 
prove  "stranger  th-an  our  fiction." 

The  theory  of  Christianity  which  Dr.  Newman's 
writings  present  deserved  better  at  his  hands  than  to 
be  given  as  an  hypothesis  and  fin  "  economy."  Stript 
of  perverse  adjuncts,  and  checked  at  its  points  of  deflec- 
tion, it  assumes  the  aspect  of  a  religious  philosophy, 
combining,  with  an  unusual  sense  of  proportion,  the 
chief  truths  of  Christian  morals  and  faith.  In  its  results 
it  concurs,  of  course,  with  the  Catholic  doctrines  ;  but  it 
brings  them  out  in  fresh  connections  and  with  reference 
all  round  to  the  rival  teachings,  from  the  midst  of  which 
the  expositor  himself  has  emerged  into  them.  The  brief- 
est notice  of  the  main  features  nuist  content  us. 


ON    OUR    niESENT    THEOLOGY.  358 

The  liumaii  soul  cnnnot  lose  its  essentially  moral  con- 
stitution. Free  and  responsible  still  in  the  heathen 
notwithstanding  the  fall,  and  in  the  Clu-istian  though 
brought  under  gnico,  it  has  never  suidv  below  the 
capacity,  and  never  rises  iibove  the  obligation,  ot"  obedi- 
ence. The  sense  of  duty  is  intrinsically  the  highest 
authority,  —  the  ultimate  ground  of  all  ecclesiastical 
])i-etensions.  The  "objective  authority"  of  the  church, 
which  is  peculiar  to  revealed  religion,  would  have  noth- 
ing to  rest  upon,  were  it  not  for  the  prior  "subjectixe 
authority"  of  conscience,  which  belongs  to  natural  reli- 
gion. The  dispensations  of  God  are  not,  therefore, 
restricted  to  the  Hebrew  course  of  history  :  they  are 
universal  as  the  human  conscience,  and  every  man  has 
his  trust  of  light  and  grace.  Even  s])ccial  revelation 
must  be  regarded  as  probably  given  at  different  times  to 
all  nations  ;  no  tribe  being  without  traditions  of  super- 
natural events.  Tiie  distinction  in  favor  of  the  Jewish 
race  is  simply  that  with  it  alone  have  the  facts  been  pre- 
served by  authentic  records  and  media.  And  as  the 
inspiration  of  God  is  not  restricted  by  limits  of  place, 
so  neither  does  it  die  out  with  time.  He  speaks  to  us 
still,  and  enables  us  to  add  to  our  store  ;  not,  indeed, 
by  taking  any  new  point  of  de[)arture,  i)ut  deveioj)ing 
and  applying  the  divine  data,  —  by  resolving  the  vis- 
ion and  concrete  thought  of  the  Son  of  (nxl  into  the 
component  ideas  and  living  truths  whi('h  it  yii'lds  to 
holy  reflection. 

In  its  very  nature  religious  truth  is  \rV/-evidcncin'.:-, 
—  evolved  from  the  mind  rather  than  deposited  on  it: 
and  the  care  of  the  teacher  or  the  church  nuist  be 
directed   less   to  any   intellectual   elaboration  of    [)roof 


360  TEHSONAL    IXFLUEXCK8 

than  to  prepare  the  temper  nnd  posture  of  the  receiving 
poul,  and  waken  into  consciousness  the  elementary  expe- 
riences of*  reverence  and  faith.  Christianity  itself  is  self- 
evidencing,  and  by  its  inherent  power  makes  way  where 
no  books  of  evi<lencc8  could  carry  it.  Indeed,  all  its 
doctrines  are  really  given,  and  have  actually  been 
found,  in  natural  religion.  Only  they  came  to  wir^e 
and  m)od  heathens  on  the  vauue  authority  of  a  diviue 
principle,  instead  of  a  divine  agent.  The  one  grand 
gift  of  the  Gospel  to  the  human  mind  is  that,  by  the 
Incarnation,  it  has  determined  the  i)ersonulify  of  God, 
and  His  relations  of  character  and  affection  towards 
man.  jT/i/*-,  and  not  what  is  called  the  "doctrine  of 
the  Cross,"  is  the  s[)eeialty  and  living  kernel  of  the 
Gospel. 

Christianity,  however,  is  not  adequately  described  as 
a  revelation  of  truth  ;  or  even  as  a  saving  transaction  : 
rather  is  it  (inclusively,  indeed,  of  these)  a  divine 
Institute  in  perpetuity  for  helping  man  to  "clc.in-^c 
himself  from  sin."  His  fallen  nature,  though  not 
mined  or  bereft  of  its  free-will,  is  in  a  state  of  moral 
infirmity,  requiring  supernatural  aids ;  and  these  the 
Christian  economy  provides.  First,  the  Son  of  God 
became  incarnate,  '^  non  amitlendu  quod  ernt,  sed 
tiirniendo  quod  nan  erat,"  reconciling  infinitude  with 
j)ersonality,  and  purifying  the  nature  He  adopted  and 
through  whose  experiences  He  j)asscd.  Next,  the  sac- 
rificial merits  of  this  act  are  distributed  by  a  ])erj)eiu.il 
re-incarnatiort  in  the  Eucharist,  and,  with  modifications, 
by  the  other  sacraments,  as  vehicles  of  grace.  Jiiit 
again,  the  spiritual  purification  which  is  thus  freely 
given  to  faith  for  j)ast  evil  does  not  close  the  contiu- 


ox    OUIl    PRESENT    THEOLOGY.  301 

gencies  oi'  the  fa  hi  re.  Onh'  in  proportion  as  the  grace 
of  faith  leads  to  works  and  h>ve,  is  it  effectual  for  the 
time  to  come  :  so  that  the  retrospect  on  Redemption 
does  not  close  the  prospect  of  Retribution,  and  within 
the  Gospel  there  is  still  a  Law.  Baptism,  which 
M'ashes  out  all  prior  sin,  cannot  be  repeated  :  and  sub- 
sequent transgressions  nuist  be  cleansed  away  either  by 
the  penances  and  absolution  of  the  church,  or  by  the 
expiations  of  purgatory.  Throughout  his  doctrine  our 
author  provides  a  responsible  place  for  the  human  Avill, 
and  constructs  a  true" vioral  theology."  His  antithesis 
between  grace  and  nature  shows  itself,  not  by  opposing 
faith  to  morality,  but  by  importing  into  morals  an 
interior  contrast  between  the  tastes  of  the  natural  and 
of  the  religious  conscience  ;  the  latter  going  beyond  the 
mere  human  rectitudes,  and  producing  ascetic  virtues, 

—  regarding  life  as  penitential  and  expiatory,  if  not 
endowed  with  positive  and  blessed  promise  to  self- 
sacrifice. 

On  the  mere  Romanist  appendages  to  this  scheme, 

—  the  Invocation  of  saints,  the  ^Nlariolatry,  the  Apos- 
tolic Succession,  &c.  — we  mean  to  say  nothing.  They 
are  chiefly  remarkable  for  having  raised  up  in  their 
defence  the  obnoxious  but  highly  important  "  doctrine 
of  development."  In  the  absence  of  any  plausible 
su{>port  from  Scripture,  it  became  necessary,  if  they 
were  to  be  retained  at  all,  to  widen  the  source  of 
doctrine,  and  give  an  interpreting  and  determining 
power  to  the  church.  In  order  to  reconcile  Protestants 
to  this,  it  was  maintained  that  for  them  too,  not  less 
than  for  the  Catholics,  the  letter  of  tin;  Bible  was  insuf- 
ficient, unless  read  by  the  reflected  light  of  later  ecclcsi- 


362  PERSONAL    IXFLUKXCES 

astical  decisions.  Neither  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity, 
nor  the  usni^e  of  Infant  Baptism,  eonld  be  gathered 
from  the  sacred  writinirs  ah)nc.  8u'*h  questions  as 
those  respecting  an  intermediate  state  and  the  remission 
of  past-baptismal  sins  are  raised,  but  not  sohed,  by  the 
Gospels.  Xor  can  Sci-ipture  (U'tcrm'iie  its  own  canon, 
or  its  own  inspiration.  To  set  it  up  as  a  seif-suflicinf^ 
ol)j(!Ctive  authority,  is  to  ap[)ly  it  to  a  purpose  for  which 
it  is  not  intended  or  adapted.  On  tlie  other  hand, 
traces  abound  upon  its  page  that  it  has  been  composed 
on  the  principle  of  dcveloi)ment,  that  is,  with  n  view  to 
an  ulterior  determination  of  many  things  which  it  leaves 
indeterminate.  The  statement  of  the  Logos-doctrine 
in  the  proem  of  St.  John's  Gospel  is  but  tlie  germ  in 
which  the  true  doctrine  of  Christ's  higher  nature  lies  : 
and  till  successive  heresies  had  started  the  questions  dor- 
mant within  it,  and  given  occasion  for  a  verdict  on  them, 
the  right  solution  could  not  disengage  itself  from  the 
possible  wrong  ones.  The  proj)hecies  quoted  from 
the  Jewish  Scriptures  in  the  Ciu'istian  seem  ina[)|)li- 
cable,  till  we  are  furnisiied  with  tlie  doul^le  meaning  or 
non-natural  sense  ;  and  to  bring  this  fully  out  required 
the  experience  of  a  later  time,  when  the  necessary  ten- 
dency of  literal  and  historical  interpretation  to  Arian 
rationalism  had  been  made  evident  in  the  exegetical 
school  of  Aiitioch,  and  the  connection  of  the  mystical 
method  with  orthodoxy  and  i)iety  had  displayed  itself 
in  the  cateclictical  school  of  Alexandria.  From  all 
these  symptoms  it  is  gathered,  that  the  Christian  sys- 
tem, not  excepting  its  primary  principles,  is  only  im- 
plicitly given  in  the  canonical  bt>oks ;  that  the  seed  of 
truth,  once  consigned  to  human  souls  as  its  receptacle, 


ox    OUR    rUESEXT    THEOLOGY.  363 

more  and  more  clearly  evinced  its  nature  and  discrimi- 
nated its  species  by  the  growths  into  which  it  opened  ; 
that  tlie  tact  of  the  cliurch  in  rect)gnizing  the  genuine 
characters,  and  in  rejecting  the  spurious  or  mixed, 
became  finer  with  continued  exercise,  and  tlie  aid  of 
prior  definitions  ;  that  instead  of  testing  the  hiter  by 
the  earlier,  we  are  to  interpret  the  earlier  by  the  later, 
and  import  the  explicit  doctrines  of  the  fourth  and  fifth 
centuries  into  the  rudimentary  ex[)ressions  of  the  first. 
Protestants  must  either  denude  their  creed  to  its  mere 
embryo,  or  let  it  assume  the  proportions  of  full-blown 
llomanism. 

The  state  of  this  controversy  is  curious.  The  as- 
snm])tion  on  both  sides  is,  that  either  the  Bible  or  tlie 
Ciiurch  is  impregnable,  and  aciueves  all  our  protection 
from  error  for  us  :  the  only  rpiestion  is,  which  of  the 
two  it  is.  To  put  this  to  the  test,  each  i)arty  tries  to 
discredit  the  favorite  refuge  of  the  other.  Dr.  Newman 
does  not  scruple  to  discharge  a  volley  into  the  intrench- 
ment  of  Scripture,  in  order  to  show  the  Protestants 
that  it  may  be  made  too  hot  to  hold  them,  and  "compel 
them  to  come  in"  to  his  stronghold.  They  re[)ly  by  a 
hot  fire  at  his  church-bastions,  to  convince  him  that 
they  may  be  knocked  about  his  head.  Is  it  surprising 
if  both  are  ])retty  well  riddled  ;  if  neither  is  found  to 
be  designed  for  the  purpose  to  which  it  has  been 
a[)plied  ;  and  if  a  cliaugc  of  the  whole  ground  should 
be  the  clearly  indicated  result?  IJy  no  documentary 
process,  no  construction  of  title-deeds,  be  they  canonical 
or  ecclesiastical,  of  the  first  century  or  the  fourth,  can 
you  draw  forth  the  oracular  system  which  you  seek. 
Rail  off  what  plot  of  history  you  w^U,  the  human,  with 


3G4  TERSONAL    IXFLUEXCE8 

all  its  liabilities,  will  bo  there.  AViinder  wlicre  you 
will  on  its  unenclosed  spaces,  the  divine,  with  its  eter- 
nal teachinj^,  will  not  be  absent.  For  discriminating 
the  true  from  the  false,  the  accidental  from  the  essen- 
tial, in  morals  and  reli;i;ion,  whether  drawn  fn)m  the 
special  Christian  data,  or  from  the  entire  life  of  hu- 
manity, somethinij^  more  is  needed  than  to  draw  an 
arbitrary  line  round  a  select  "rronp  of  books,  or  a 
favored  series  of  centuries.  "Objective  authority" 
in  religion  there  doubtless  is  ;  but  vested  in  a  Person 
Avho  is  eternal,  and  not  therefore  a  fixture  of  chronol- 
oiry  ;  speaking  to  ns  through  all  the  media  of  His  life 
in  humanity,  and  not  therefore  separable  from  the 
"subjective  authoi"ity"  of  conscience,  or  discoverable 
without  it;  and  though  uniquely  manifested  in  the 
**  Word  made  flesh,"  yet  owned  by  us  evcn'jfhere  only 
through  the  same  Word  in  hearts  already  tinctured  with 
the  Christian  consciousness. 

Looking  back  on  the  whole  influence  of  Dr.  Xew- 
man's  personality  and  writings,  we  see  in  it  a  great 
])roponderancc  of  good.  Bishop  Thirlwall  has  justly 
acknowledged  that  the  Oxford  movement  has  given  rise 
to  more  valuable  writings  in  theology  than  had  appeared 
for  a  long  time  ])revious  to  it.  And  though  it  arrested 
the  ])ursuit  of  critical  theology  for  a  while,  the  post- 
ponement was  amply  compensated  by  a  newly-awakened 
attention  to  the  whole  history  of  Christianity,  and  a  far 
more  searching  look  into  the  moral  and  spiritual  condi- 
tions and  effects  of  faith  in  the  human  soul.  The 
prosecution  of  the  critical  theology  will  be  resumed  Avith 
larger,  humbler,  yet  freer  spirit,  now  that  some  dee|)cr 
root  has  been  found  for  Christian  obedience  and  belief 


ON    OUR    PRESENT    THEOLOGY.  oGo 

tlian  an  authority  wholly  external  and  contingent  on  a 
literary  tenure.  A  sense  ot"  the  universality  and  per- 
jjotuity  of  Divine  grace,  —  of  the  sanctity  of  coinnioii 
(hities  and  self-denials,  —  of  the  grandeur  and  ])o\ver 
of  historical  conmuinion  and  church-life,  —  of  the  true 
place  of  beauty  and  art  in  worship, —  has  dee[)lv  pene- 
trated into  the  newer  religion  of  England  ;  —  chieHv,  it 
is  true,  among  the  classes  within  reach  of  academical 
modes  of  thought  and  feeling,  hut  through  them  affect- 
ing the  administration  of  j)arishes  and  manors  out  of 
number.  For  the  re-union  of  religious  and  moral  ends, 
—  for  the  reconciliation  of  human  admirations  with  holy 
reverence, — for  the  consecration  of  the  near  and  tem- 
poral,—  many  a  heart  owes  a  debt  of  unspeakable 
gratitude  to  the  literature  of  the  Oxford  school.  The 
one  grand  sin  whicii  we  nuist  set  off  against  these 
merits,  is  a  certain  want  of  unconditional  and  ultimate 
trust  in  their  own  principles.  Their  system  has  too 
often  the  a))])earance  (jf  !)ein'^  constructed  on  purpose  as 
a  refuge  from  (li)ubts  they  dare  not  face.  Their  intel- 
lectual men  have  been  fond  of  {)laying  with  hrc,  and 
flinging  about  brilliant  scepticisms,  eating  into  the  very 
heart  of  life,  for  the  chance  of  inducing  flight  into  their 
])rotecting  fold.  It  is  hard  for  a  proselyte  of  terror  to 
become  a  child  of  trust:  and  the  brand  oi'  Jem-  deforms 
the  forehead  of  this  ])tuty.  ''To  obey,"  they  say,  "  is 
easier  than  to  believe  :  so  we  will  begin  from  the  con- 
science, that  we  m;u'  end  with  assKrance.  "  Good  : 
but  see  that  von  obc\-  out  of  the  belief  you  /tare,  instead 
of  ivif/i  a  vt'cir  fo  n  he} i<  f  n-hicJi  ijou  Ikivv  not.  Con- 
science has  a  ri;_',lit  to  you  through  and  through,  and 
must   be   served    wiihout    terms  :    and    vainly   do    you 


2<J6  PERSONAL    INFLUENCES 

mount  her  sacred  steps  on  knees  of  painful  penance,  if 
the  thought  of  your  heart  be  to  escape  from  the  outer 
exposures  and  tlu-catcning  skies  of  doubt,  into  the  shel- 
ter of  a  ready  tein})lc  and  the  gynjpathy  of  a  mighty 
throng.  Tlic  deepest  form  of  scepticism  is  seen  in  thy 
mind  which  is  in  haste  to  believe ;  which  resolves,  by 
some  violent  8j)ring,  to  make  an  end  of  darkness, 
whether  the  light  attained  be  God's  or  not ;  which  is 
not  content  to  follow  precisely  and  only  where  Fie 
shows,  and  cannot  rest  upon  the  trustful  word,  "  My 
soul,  wait  patiently  for  Him.  "  Something  of  this  n)i- 
faith  lurks  in  the  spirit  of  the  new  Catholic  |)arty.  Tlicy 
recognize  the  ambassadorial  credentials  of  Conscience, 
and  show  you  on  its  casket  of  secrets  the  very  signet  of 
the  King  of  kings  :  —  on  opening  the  despatch-box,  you 
find  they  have  stuffed  in  all  the  creeds.  The  self- 
deception  involved  in  this  is  not  always  unmixed  with 
artifice.  All  such  policy  is  a  half-conscious  attempt  to 
suborn  God's  Spirit  on  behalf  of  our  own  desires  and 
prejudices,  and  against  the  doubts  and  scruples  which 
may  be  truly  His. 

Transferring  ourselves  now  from  Oxford  to  Cam- 
bridge, we  acknowledge  at  the  outset  that  the  pl<ice  has 
much  less  to  do  with  the  party,  in  the  case  of  the  phil- 
osophical movement  led  by  Coleridge,  than  in  that  of 
the  eccesiastical  represented  by  Newman.  Yet  it  was 
before  the  University  of  Cambridge  that  Julius  Hare* 
first  produced  the  fruits  of  his  meditations  at  the  feet  of 
the  poet-i)hilosopher :  and  it  was  in  Trinity  College 
chapel  that  he  preached  the  sermons  which  mark  most 

*  Semiou  on  "  the  Children  of  Light,"  preached  before  the  University  in 
162S. 


ox    OUR    rRESENT    THEOLOGY.  3()7 

clearly  his  theological  position.*  The  Highgate  sage 
had  ijone  to  his  rest  at  the  very  bejrinninir  of  the  Oxford 
movement  (in  1834),  and  left  his  disciples  to  deal  with 
the  piienomenon  according  to  their  own  lights.  ]Mr. 
Hare  had  visited  the  Eternal  City,  and  witnessed  there 
some  things  wiiich  indisposed  him  to  trifle  with  the 
honest  heart  of  Protestantism.  "  1  saw  the  Pope,"  he 
used  to  say,  "  apparently  kneeling  in  prayer  for  man- 
kind :  but  the  legs  which  kneeled  were  artificial ;  lie 
was  in  his  chair.  ^Vas  not  that  si^ht  enough  to  conn- 
tcract  all  the  a?sthctical  impressions  of  the  worship,  if 
they  had  been  a  hundred  times  stronger  than  they  were  ?  f 
He  saw  at  once  the  part  that  he  should  take  ;  and  in  his 
first  sermon,  preached  before  the  clergy  of  the  diocese 
of  Chichester,  he  vindicated,  from  the  words,  "Lo,  I  am 
with  you  always,  even  unto  the  end  of  the  world,"  the 
living  presence  of  the  invisible  Word  in  His  own  Per- 
son against  the  sacerdotal  delegation  claimed,  and 
virtually  substiruted,  by  the  Tractarians.  Profoundly 
Lutheran  in  his  conception  of  "faith,"  and  jealous  of  all 
interposed  niedia  between  the  Cluu'ch  and  her  Divine 
Head,  he  resisted  at  the  outset  the  dangers  of  an  official 
theocracy  with  an  absent  God.  The  oflx?nce  given  to 
some  hearers  by  this  sermon  made  him  hesitate  for  a 
time  to  accept  the  office  of  Archdeacon  of  Lewes.  But 
in  overruling  his  objections.  Bishop  Otter  rightly  inter- 
preted the  character  of  his  mind  ;   of  which  the  recent 

•  Sermon  on  "the  Law  of  Scl'.-sairilico,"  1S20;  an  1  Sonnon  on  "the  Sin 
against  tlie  Holy  Ghost,"  in  1832. 

t  Sec  Introfhiction,  page  xxvi.  (understood  to  be  by  ^Ir.  Maurioo)  to  the 
Vis'tatlon  Cliirf/es  of  the  Anhiknamof  Lr,r,n,  ji,  t hi;  years  1843,  1845,  184G; 
a  chavniinf,'  sketch  of  Hare's  cliaractcr  and  position,  as  rich  and  wise  as  it  is 
aAl;«  'ionat«. 


368  PERSONAL    INFLUENCES 

sermon  was  only  a  partial  expression ;  and  wiiich, 
though  impulsive  and  unsystematic,  had  too  many  open 
and  susceptible  sides,  too  rich  a  culture,  and  too  real  a 
spiritual  depth,  to  restrict  its  sympathies  to  any  exclu- 
sive party. 

In  fact,  the  polemic  attitude  for  the  moment  assumed 
towards  the  Anglicans  by  no  means  expressed  the  char- 
acteristic of  his  school.  A  much  deeper  and  earlier 
antipathy  had  called  it  into  existence,  and  shaped  it  into 
form.  Coleridge,  as  all  his  readers  are  aware,  was  in 
early  life  a  ])reacher  among  the  Unitarians.  Though 
never  having  a  j)ermanent  pastoral  charge  among  them, 
he  was  once  on  the  point  of  settling  as  a  minister  at 
Shrewsl)urv  :  and,  in  withdrawing,  he  assures  the  con- 
gregation that,  while  he  prefers  a  freer  mode  of  life, 
"active  zeal  for  Unitarian  Christianity,  not  indolence  or 
iiidifFerence,  has  been  the  motive  of  n)y  declining  a  local 
and  stated  settlement  as  a  preacher  of  it."  *  His  early 
poems,  and  the  name  of  hia  eldest  son,  attest  the  fervor 
with  which  he  embraced  the  philosophy  of  Priestley  and 
Hnrtley,  as  well  as  the  "Psilanthroj)ism  "  of  the  sect. 
By  the  side  of  the  French  atheism  of  the  day,  these 
opinions  wore  a  conservative  aspect  towards  Christian- 
ity;  in  the  presence  of  the  political  "  Church-and-King" 
vulgarity,  they  seemed  generous  to  liberty  :  in  the  total 
oblivion  of  deej)er  speculation,  and  the  absolute  domi- 
nance of  physical  method,  they  satisfied  the  demand  for 
compactness  and  system  in  philosophy.  But  only  the 
dearth  of  other  waters,  and  the  parching  of  that  desert 
time,   could   detain    him   at   this   spring.      His   natiual 

*  Letter,  (Intel  Slirov.-sbiin-,  ,Iaii.  19, 179P,  to  Mr.  Isaac  Wood,  Iligli  Street, 
Shrewsbury.     Ciiiistiun  Iteforiner  for  1834,  p.  £40. 


ON    OUll    PKESENT    THEOLOGY.  369 

thirst  Avas  ever  feeling  its  way  to  more  congenial  foun- 
tains. His  speculative  creed  had  never  ])enetrated  the 
unconscious  essence  of  the  man,  hut  lay  as  a  texture 
about  him,  without  growing  into  the  fibres  of  his  heart. 
In  1790,  he  records,  in  a  private  letter,  iiis  experience 
under  sore  affliction :  "  My  philosophical  refinements 
and  metaphysical  theories  lay  by  me  in  the  hour  of  an- 
guish as  toys  by  the  bedside  of  a  child  deadly  sick."  * 
Never,  in  short,  was  the  genius  of  a  man  more  out  of 
its  ekment.  An  infirm  will,  a  dreamy  ideality,  a  pre- 
ternatural subtlety  of  thought,  and  intense  religious 
susceptibility,  were  thrown  among  a  people  eminently 
practical  and  prosaic,  impatient  of  romance,  indifferent 
to  intellectual  refinements,  strict  in  their  moral  ex{)ecta- 
tions,  scrupulous  of  the  veracities  but  afraid  of  the 
fervors  of  devotion.  The  strength  and  the  weakness 
of  each  party  were  vehemently  antipathic  to  those  of  the 
other :  and  their  inevitable  divergence  once  begim, 
the  alienation  became  rapidly  complete.  Coleridge  was 
a  born  Platonist,  who  coidd  not  permanently  rest  con- 
tent, with  Locke,  to  seek  all  knowledge  in  phenomena, 
or,  with  Paley,  all  good  in  iiappiness  :  and  on  the  first 
0[)ening  of  his  cage  of  experience,  he  darted  out,  and 
took  to  his  metaphysic  wing. 

It  was  Kant  who  first  lifted  the  bar  and  set  him  free  ; 
and  who,  with  Schclling,  inspired  him  to  seize  that  bor- 
der territory  between  psychology  and  theologv,  which 
liad  long  been  declared  a  dream-land.  If  anywhere 
the  relationship  can  be  really  witnessed  between  tlie 
human  spirit  and  the  divine,  it  must  be  on  the  awful 

*  Letter  to  ^fr.  Benjamin  Flower,  Kditor  of  the  Caiiibridge  Ir.telligencer. 
Moulhly  Repository  for  1834,  p.  6D4. 

21 


370  PERSONAL   INFLUENCES 

confines  of  tlie  two  ;  and  by  taking  stand  on  the  ground 
of  our  highest  consciousness,  we  may  perhaps  be  able  to 
pass  to  and  fro  across  the  line,  and  find  the  breadth  of 
any  common  margin  there  may  be,  and  note  where,  on 
the  one  hand,  it  sinks  into  pure  Nature,  and  on  the 
other,  rises  into  the  absolute  God.  Here,  then,  he 
worked  in  botii  directions,  —  upwards  and  downwards, 
—  till  the  two  tracks  met :  with  results  which,  so  far  as 
our  present  object  is  concerned,  may  be  briefly  indi- 
cated. 

Dr.  Newniiin  has  himself  drawn  attention  to  a  re- 
markable concurrence  between  his  own  conceptions  and 
Coleridge's,  respecting  the  sources  and  limits  of  natural 
religion  in  the  human  mind.*  They  agree  in  seeking 
the  germ  of  devout  belief  in  the  experiences  of  con- 
science ;  in  recognizing  the  essentially  religious  character 
of  morality  ;  in  making  faith  the  prior  condition  of  spir- 
itual knowledge,  and  vindicating  the  maxim,  Credo,  ut 
intelligam.  Newman,  however,  represents  the  moral 
feeling  more  as  a  blind  instinctive  datum  to  be  accept- 
ed ;  Coleridge,  more  as  cognitive  power,  looking  on 
reality  with  open  eye.  And  further,  with  Newman 
there  is  no  other  original  spring  of  divine  knowledge ; 
while  Coleridge  allows  us  an  intellectual  as  well  as  a 
moral  organ  for  the  apprehension  of  God.  Beyond  and 
above  the  Understanding ,  which  generalizes  from  the 
data  of  perception,  gathers  laws  from  ])henomena, 
frames  rules  from  experience,  traces  logical  consequence 
and  adapts  means  to  ends,  he  enthrones  the  Reason ^ 
which  seizes  a  different  order  of  truths  —  viz.  the 
necessary  and  universal, —  in  themselves  inconceiva- 
•  University  Sennons,  ii.  p.  24,  note. 


ox    OUR    PRESENT    THEOLOGY.  371 

ble,  in  their  absence  contradictory  ;  and  in  a  different 
way  —  viz.  intuitively  and  immediately,  not  mediately 
or  throngli  a  process.  The  former  (  Verstaml)  has  the 
field  oi  JS'^ature  (that  which  is  born,  —  the  originated 
and  transient)  for  its  ohjecl,  and  belongs  to  ouv  natural 
part  as  its  seat'  and  is  therefore  not  [)ecnliar  to  us,  but 
shareil  by  other  animal  races,  —  whose  so-called  "  in- 
stinct "  is  not  specifically  distinguishable  from  adaptive 
intelligence.  The  latter  (  Verniinft)  has  the  realm  of 
Spirit  (the  6'?/;yK'/'-natural,  to  which  the  predicates 
of  time  and  space  are  inapplicable)  for  its  object,  and 
for  its  seat  in  us  our  sj)irit  or  supernatural  part.  Had 
Ave,  in  combination  with  our  sentient  capacity,  only  un- 
derstanding, tiiough  in  ever  so  eminent  a  degree,  we 
shovdd  remain  mere  living  t/iiitgs,  —  with  an  honorable 
place  in  the  records  of  natural  history,  but  leaving  the 
registers  of  morals  and  religion  still  blank  and  clasped. 
The  Reason  by  which  a  higher  life  becomes  possible 
divaricates  into  two  functions,  —  the  cognitive  and  the 
active  ;  the  former  giving  the  roots  of  all  our  Onto- 
logical  thinking,  —  the  ideas  of  Cause,  of  Unity,  of 
Infinitude,  &c.  ;  the  latter  furnishing  the  postulates 
of  all  ^Moral  action,  —  the  ideas  of  Freedom,  of  Per- 
sonality, of  Obligation.  Both  the  speculative  and  the 
practical  reason  have  a  voice  in  our  ])rinKiry  religi(.us 
faith.  But  the  former,  alone  and  by  itself,  would  give 
us  merely  an  ontological  "One,"  a  Spinozistic  Absolute, 
—  the  residuary  God  of  the  a-priori  demonstrations: 
necessitating,  no  doubt,  a  self-subsistent  Infinite  of  wiiidi 
atheism  can  render  no  account,  but  leaving  us  uuassui'cd 
how  far  predicates  of  character  may  be  transferred  to  its 
mysterious    subject.     Hence    the    chief  application    of 


372  PERSONAL    INFLUENCES 

ppeculative  reason  in  theology  must  always  be  critical 
rather  than  creative;  to  slay  in  .single  combat  each  siic- 
ces?ive  i'oc  that  may  arise;  but  not  to  proclaim  fur 
whom  it  ifi  that  the  champion  stands,  and  for  ever  keeps 
the  field.  On  the  other  hand,  the  practical  reason  or 
conscience  reveals  to  us  the  I/oli/  God,  who  is  the  pro- 
per and  positive  object  of"  our  faith  ;  who  is  doubtless 
more  or  less  clearly  ap|)rehended  in  proportion  to  the 
pm-ity  of  our  discerning  and  reflecting  faculty,  but  wiio 
lurks  suspected  or  half-percei\cd  in  the  darkest  hearts; 
—  if  no  otherwise,  at  least  in  tlieir  fears  and  compunc- 
tions :  for  "  remorse  is  the  implicit  creed  of  the  guilty." 
Tiie  will,  as  empowered  to  carry  out  tJie  ideas  of 
lveas<»n  in  the  realm  of  Sense,  —  to  make  Spirit  of  avail 
in  Nature,  —  is  by  its  very  function  ,<iuper-n{ituva],  and 
cannot  be  entangled  as  a  constituent  in  the  very  system 
which  it  is  to  influence  fiom  above.  Only  the  divinely- 
free  can  achieve  that  passage.  A  footman  will  run 
your  errand  ficross  the  town  ;  but  it  needs  a  winged 
Iris  or  a  sandalled  Hermes  to  bear  the  messages  of  g(jds 
to  men.  It  is  precisely  in  the  freedom  of  the  will  that 
a  person  is  distinguished  from  a  thing,  and  becomes  a 
])ossible  subject  of  moral  law.  And  so  is  it  in  the 
recognition  of  a  good  other  than  the  sentient,  of  an 
authority  transcending  all  personal  j)ieference,  of  a 
right  over  us  and  our  whole  cargo  of  "  ha])piness,"  ac- 
tual and  potential,  that  the  sense  of  Duty  and  tlie 
conditions  of  morality  begin.  Hence  Edwards  and 
the  necessarians,  Priestley  and  the  materialists,  Pahjy 
and  the  Epiciu'eans,  depict  a  universe  from  which  all 
moral  qualities  and  beings,  divine  or  human,  are  ex- 
cluded :    and   whether    reasoning   down    from    God   as 


ox    OUR    PRESENT    THEOLOGY.  373 

absolute  Sovereir/n,  or  up  from  man  as  simply  sentient y 
miss  whatever  is  august  and  lioly  in  its  lite. 

From  tiie  distinction  drawn  between  nature  and 
s[)irit,  it  follows  that  tliere  cannot  be  such  a  tiling 
as  "natural  religion."  Ail  religion  must  be  spiritual, 
springing  as  it  does  exclusively  within  the  supernatural 
clement  of  us.  Nay,' more  ;  all  religion  must  be  re- 
vealed, if  by  that  word  we  mean,  "directly  given  by 
Divine  coninninication"  as  op[)osed  to  mediate  dis- 
covery of  our  own.  For  what  and  whence  are  those 
primary  ideas  of  conscience  which  constitute  or  presup- 
pose our  deej)est,  though  not  our  fullest,  faith?  Are 
tliey  of  our  own  making? — of  our  own  finding?  Have 
we  any  thing  to  do  with  their  genesis?  Do  they  not 
report  to  us  of  the  necessary  and  eternal  ?  And  are 
thev  not  the  presence  with  us  of  that  Eternal,  whereof 
assuredly  nothing  tem[)oi-al  and  finite  can  report?  Is 
there  not  profound  truth  as  well  as  [)iety  in  the  coup- 
let: 

"None  but  Tliy  wisdom  knows  Thy  might: 
Jsoiie  but  Tliy  Word  can  speak  Thy  uamul  " 

The  reason  in  us  is  not  jjersonal  to  us,  but  only  the 
manifestation  in  our  consciousness  of  the  infinite  reason, 
jiresenting  us  with  its  su|iernatural  realities,  and  intrust- 
ing to  our  will  their  divine  i-ights  over  our  Avorld.  It  is 
thus  the  common  ground  of  the  di\  ine  and  the  human, 
the  essential  base  of  their  conmiunion,  the  I^ogos  which 
is  at  once  the  objective  truth  and  the  subjective  knowl- 
cilge  of  God. 

These  results  have  thus  far  l)een  reached  psychologi- 
cally, by  beginning  with  the  data  of  the  human  soul 
and  tracing  their  indications  upward.      But,  to  meet  it, 


374  PERSONAL   INFLUENCES 

Coleridge  also  descends,  by  an  ontological  track,  fron\ 
tlie  Absolute  One  to  His  expression  in  tlie  finite,  —  a 
Platonic  Logos  or  Son  of  God  ;  to  whom  \vc  arc  to 
refer  at  once  the  physical  kosnios,  the  divine  process  in 
liistory,  and  the  intimations  of  reason  and  conscience. 
Through  this  mediator,  found  alike  at  the  foot  of  our 
speculative  dialectic  and  at  the  sunnnit  of  our  inor.il 
analytic,  do  God  and  man  meet  and  sustain  living  rela- 
tions. 

But  St.  John  identifies  this  Logos  with  the  his'torical 
Christ;  in  whom,  therefore,  the  Infinite  reaches  not 
only  finite,  but  concrete  and  personal  manifestation.  It 
is  the  glory  and  joy  of  our  humanity  that  He  took  it  into 
Plimself ;  and  conquering  sin  in  it,  purified  it,  and  gave 
it  a  seed  of  higher  life.  Through  uttermost  self-sacri- 
fice. He  reconciled  its  deepest  sorrows  with  coniplote 
perfection  ;  redeemed  it  and  drew  it  to  God  ;  and  made 
manifest  in  time  the  eternal  facts  of  His  infinite  love, — 
His  personal  union  with  our  nature,  —  and  the  law  of 
self-sacrifice  as  the  deliverance  of  His  universe. 

If  we  rightly  understand  the  theologijuis  of  this 
school,  they  do  not  intend,  when  they  speak  of  the  di- 
vine assumption  of  our  nature,  to  limit  their  reference 
to  the  individual  life  of  Jesus  of  Xazareth.  The  Son 
is  united  not  with  this  or  that  particular  man  only,  but 
with  humanity  itself  as  a  type ;  and  constitutes,  as  He 
ever  has  constituted,  the  ground  and  life  of  all  its  good. 
The  blending  of  the  two  natures  is  not  a  biographical 
but  an  "  eternal "  fact,  belonging  to  the  essence  of  their 
relation.  The  particular  Incarnation  of  the  evangeli- 
cal history  ^^ reveals  and  realizes^''  the  universal  truth; 
to  which  all  its  exceptional  and  marking  features,  — ■ 


ox    OUR    ritESEXT    THEOLOGY.  375 

iiilraciilous  birth,  agony  and  crucifixion,  resurrection  and 
ascension,  —  stand  related  as  symbols  to  the  reality, — 
as  passing  phenomena  that  tell  the  tale  of  an  eternit}-. 
They  are,  indeed,  more  than  this  ;  because  they  are  not, 
—  as  symbols  may  be, —  mere  signs  or  instruments  of 
suii'uestion  ;  but  are  liomooeneous  with  the  thinsc  signi- 
fied,  and  integrated  with  it  as  its  highest  momenta. 

Following  out  this  interpretation  of  the  redemptive 
operation  of  the  Son,  we  may  conceive  of  it  in  two  ways  : 
as  in  reality  always  going  on,  although  unrecognized  ; 
and  as  at  length  revealed  in  a  plenary  Incarnation,  so 
as  to  be  henceforth  turned  out  from  the  unconscious 
to  the  conscious  state.  This  Last  change  is  in  itself  a 
spiritual  revolution  of  the  highest  order,  —  like  the 
burst  of  a  universe  only  felt,  and  by  inches,  before,  on 
the  eye  touched  by  the  finger  of  Christ.  By  ceasing  to 
be  latent,  —  by  being  given  to  our  faith,  —  the  redeem- 
ing agency  is  at  once  raised  to  a  higher  power.  Xow 
that  we  know  ivho  it  is  that  pleads  and  strives  with  our 
evil  nature,  we  can  freely  go  to  meet  Him,  and  lie  may 
act  from  within  our  will  as  well  as  from  without.  His 
life-giving  energy  is  quite  another  thing,  —  since  not  a 
thing  at  all,  but  a  person,  —  not  even  a  "better  self," 
but  a  Divine  other-than-self ;  and  confers  upon  the  soul 
a  "  neiv  birth."  From  the  life  of  nature,  conscious  of 
only  Self  disturbed  by  an  impersonal  law,  we  emerge 
into  the  life  of  the  spirit,  set  free  by  faith,  and  admitted 
to  personal  comuiunion  of  trust  and  love.  The  transi- 
tion into  the  "  new  birth  "  is  the  chief  element  in  the 
redem[)tive  act  of  the  Son.  The  continuous  power  of 
holier  life  in  the  heart  thus  regenerate  is  the  sign  and 
function  of  the  Holy  Spirit.     Both  these,  —  the  crisis 


376  TEUSONAL   INFLUENCES 

of  change  and  its  i?piritual  sequel,  —  iirc  indec<l  full  of 
mystery  on  their  objective  or  Divine  side.  But  from  the 
subjective  or  human  side  it  is  easy  to  perceive  how 
the  consciousness  of  a  Divine  Person  blended  with  the 
Immanity  of  each  of  us,  and  the  source  in  it  of  whatever 
is  higher  than  we,  may  be  really  a  new  seed  of  life  within 
us,  giving  us  a  holy  living  Object  in  place  of  a  repul- 
sive ethical  abstraction,  and  awakening  all  the  powerful 
affections  that  ever  seek  a  Personal  Centre  of  repose. 

From  the  whole  complexion  of  this  scheme  it  will  be 
gathered,  that  the  Original  Sin  countervailed  by  redemp- 
tion is  not  birth-sm  (which  would  be  natural  disease^ 
not  moral  evil)  ;  and  that  the  redemption  is  not  an  ex- 
tinction of  punishment,  but  a  deliverance  from  sin.  It 
is  not  that  God  is  paid  off,  but  that  man  emerges  "a 
new  creature."  Tiie  "evil  ground"  there  is  in  the 
human  will, — the  downward  gravitation  of  self, — 
the  need  of  a  Diviner  to  draw  us  to  any  good  by  the 
sacrifice  of  self,  —  are  simple  facts  accessible  to  every 
man's  self-knowledge.  And  we  are  well  aware  that, 
co-existing  with  our  free  agency,  they  are  not  our  mal- 
ady, but  our  fault.  Coleridge  and  his  school  every- 
where denounce  the  Calvinistic  doctrines  of  hereditary 
depravity  iuid  of  penal  satisfaction,  as  turning  m;in 
from  a  })erson  into  a  thing,  and  denying  to  God  all 
moral  attributes.  The  primary  conditions  of  any  true 
theory  of  redeniption  are,  that  the  whole  operation  takes 
pla<;e  on  humanity ;  and  tliat  It  both  finds  and  leaves 
man  a  free  agent.  Neither  of  these  conditions  is  com- 
plied with  by  any  form  of  the  Calvinistic  scheme. 

Some  of  the  peculiarities  of  Coleridge  most  familiar  to 
tUcjlogians,  —  his  tetrads  and  pentads,  his  doctrine  of 


ON    OUR    PRESENT    THEOLOGY.  377 

Cliurch  nnd  State,  his  denial  of  the  documentary  ins[)i- 
ration  of  tlic  wliole  Bible,  —  we  pass  by;  not  from  any 
slighting  estimate  of  their  importance  as  parts  of  an 
organic  whole,  but  in  order  to  insulate  the  one  c^harac- 
ter,  —  of  religious  Realism,  —  which  is  the  inner 
essence  of  the  system  itself,  and  the  living-  seed  of  its 
development  in  the  school  of  Mr.  Maurice.  It  is 
chieHy  from  inapprehension  of  this  character,  and  from 
the  inveterate  training:  of  the  English  mind  in  the  op- 
posite habit  of  thought,  that  so  many  readers  complain 
of  obsciu'ity  in  the  writings  of  the  Chaplain  of  Lincoln's 
Inn.  We  do  not  deny  that  his  meaning  is  at  times  dif- 
ficult to  reach  ;  for  it  is  apt  to  be  delayed  too  long  by 
his  scrupulous  candor  of  concession,  his  modest  shrink- 
ing from  self-assertion,  his  preference  of  the  sympathetic 
to  the  distinctive  attitude.  But  we  venture  with  some 
confidence  to  assert,  that  for  consistency  and  complete- 
ness of  thought,  and  precision  in  the  use  of  language, 
it  would  be  difficult  to  find  his  superior  among  living 
theologians.  It  is  the  old  question,  —  what  do  you 
mean  by  a  clear  or  distinct  thought?  Do  you  mean  a 
mental  image  or  representation  of  something,  like  your 
conception  of  a  perceptible  object  or  of  a  finite  portion 
of  space  or  time?  Then  certainly  you  will  not  cease  to 
complain  of  ^Nlr.  Maurice's  indistinctness  ;  for  he  speaks 
and  thinks  of  Spirit,  and  Righteousness,  and  God,  as 
realities  without  mental  picture  and  yet  closely  known  ; 
and  he  treats  the  notions  of  Infinitude  and  Eternity  as 
something  else  than  "negati\e  ideas,"  —  the  finite  and 
the  temporal  with  all  the  meaning  emptied  out.  If,  how- 
ever, by  "clearness  of  idea"  you  mean,  not  ^^  the  idea 
of'  a  limit,"  but  "«  liiiiit  to  the  idea,'^  —  if  your  condi- 


378  PERSONAL    INFLUENCES 

tions  are  satisfied,  provided  thought  docs  not  run  into 
thouglit,  but  each  keeps  its  own  place  and  function  with 
exactitude, —  then  you  might  as  reasonably  charge  in- 
distinctness on  Mr.  Mill  or  Archbishop  Whately  as  on 
Mr.  Maurice.  Many  parts  of  his  doctrine  we  are  un- 
able to  follow  with  assent ;  but  we  see  no  excuse  for 
the  absurd  distortions  of  his  peculiar  Christianity,  with 
which  the  party-organs  of  Church  and  Sect  have  long 
abounded.  Critics  who  have  read  any  one  of  his  prac- 
tical or  historical  essays,  with  some  feeling  of  its  clear 
and  life-liice  charm,  ought  surely  to  know  that  if  his 
theology  seems  difficult  to  them,  it  cannot  be  from  his 
want  of  practised  thought  and  literary  skill,  and  must 
arise  from  their  not  having  at  present  found  his  lati- 
tude. 

Coleridge,  commencing  in  re-action  from  a  scheme  of 
materialistic  necessity,  gave  great  prominence  to  his 
assertion  of  free-agency.  Not  till  he  had  eifectually  set 
humanity  on  its  feet  again,  did  he  proceed  to  identify 
the  intimations  of  its  moral  reason  with  the  indwelling 
life  of  the  Divine  Word.  Mr.  JNIaurice  is  caught  uj) 
by  this  last  thought,  and  has  become  its  organ  to  the 
present  age;  and  so  intensely  does  it  possess  him,  that 
we  fear  his  losing  sight  too  much  of  the  prior  truth  from 
which  the  start  was  made,  and  reducing  man  into  a 
ijicre  prize,  to  be  contended  for  between  the  Satan  and 
the  God  within  him.  Pushing  the  claims  of  a  diaboli- 
cal being  far  into  the  evil  phenomena  of  our  nature,  juid 
those  of  a  Divine  Being  over  the  whole  of  the  good,  he 
thins  away  the  space  for  the  free  human  i)ersonality  till 
it  becomes  at  times  quite  evanescent.  This  is  a  danger 
ever   incident    to   the   wish    of  humility,  tl'at  nothing 


ON    OUR    niESEKT    THEOLOGY.  379 

should  be  claimed  for  self,  —  that  all  should  be  referred 
to  God.  But  it  must  be  restrained  from  reaching  its 
ultimate  limit ;  or  else  the  ground  of  morals  sinks  again 
away,  and,  in  pantheistic  guise,  universal  necessity  ab- 
sorbs us  all  once  more.  We  say,  "in  pantheistic 
guise;  "  for,  be  it  observed,  the  two  personalities  —  tlie 
Human  and  tlie  Divine  —  must  ever  appear  and  disaj)- 
pear  together:  they  are  the  two  terms  of  a  relation 
which  whoUv  vanislies  on  the  mer<>in<i-  of  either;  and 
though,  with  safety  to  both,  tiiere  is  room  for  consider- 
able variety  in  the  theory  of  their  respective  functions, 
yet  should  an  eye  of  reverential  caution  be  kept  (espe- 
cially in  our  day)  on  the  limits  of  the  j)roblem  where  the 
foci  fall  into  each  other.  If,  howe\cr,  Mr.  Maurice 
has  too  nearly  approached  this  diuigcr,  it  is  under  the 
ins[)iratiou  of  a  truth  than  vvliieh  tlierc  is  no  greater. 
The  assumption  of  humanity  by  the  Eternal  Word  may 
be  construed  from  above  downwards,  so  as  to  iUustrate 
the  character  and  agency  of  (rod  ;  or  from  below  up- 
wards, so  as  to  throw  light  on  the  spiritual  experiences 
of  uian.  In  the  former  view,  it  gives  to  our  trust  and 
worsiiip  One  whose  chosen  life  is  in  oiu*  spirits,  who 
moulds  us  into  unities  not  our  own,  —  of  family,  of  na- 
tion, of  church, —  who  is  not  weaiied  by  our  perverse- 
ncss,  but,  still  pressing  His  righteousness  upon  us,  is 
ever  redeeming  what  else  were  lost.  In  the  latter  view, 
a  singular  sanctity  is  imparted  to  the  inner  facts  of  our 
own  existence  and  the  invisible  springs  of  the  world's 
history.  Ail  that  we  inadecjuately  call  our  ulecds,  the 
gleaming  lights  of  good  that  visit  us,  the  hopes  that  lift 
again  our  fallen  wills,  tlie  beauty  whic:h  Art  cannot  rep- 
resent, the  holiness  which  lite  does  not  realize,  the  love 


380  PERSONAL    INFLUENCES 

which  cannot  die  with  dciith, —  wliat  are  thoy?  Xot 
our  higher,  but  a  higher  than  ice  —  the  living  (iiiide 
Himself,  pleading  with  us  and  asking  for  our  trust. 
The  actual  and  concrete,  on  the  other  hand,  which  falls 
tjo  iinnieasurabl}'  short  of  these  fair  types,  —  the  false 
fact  that  lies  ashamed  beneath  the  true  vision,  —  that 
is  our  j)o<)r  self;  in  which  is  nothing  but  failure,  disap- 
jxjintnient,  and  negation.  One  sini[)le  and  only  thing 
is  asked  from  us  :  to  cease  trusting  this  delusive  self 
and  <ro  frcclv  into  the  Hand  that  waits  for  us,  —  to  ex- 
change  the  tension  of  volition  for  the  quiet  of  unreserved 
surrender,  —  to  pass  from  the  ciiafing  mood  of  "  works  " 
to  the  still  heart  of  "faith."  The  great  original  sin  of 
our  nature  is,  that  we  reverse  this  order,  —  that  we  rely 
on  oiu'selves  and  are  afraid  of  God,  and  accordingly 
seek,  by  some  act  of  ours,  to  buy  Iliin  off  and  be  rid 
of  His  terrors  and  persuade  Iliiii  to  let  us  aK)ne. 
AVhcthcr  men  endeavor  to  propitiate  Him  by  relinquish- 
ing something  that  they  have,  or  to  serve  him  by 
something  that  they  do,  they  mistake  their  position,  and 
measure  tlicmselves  off  against  Him  as  if  they  had  pro- 
prietary rights  which  they  could  abandon  in  His  favor, 
or  some  availing  righteousness  which  could  satisfy  His 
moral  perccj)tion.  They  aim  at  acting  upon  Him  :  and 
He  is  wanting  to  act  on  them  ;  and  will  persist  till  they 
drop  their  gifts,  and  know  tiieir  failures,  and  freely 
come  to  Him  as  they  are  to  be  moulded  by  His  thought. 
It  was  to  bring  about  this  removal  of  distrust  towards 
God,  to  reveal  the  law  of  self-abnegation  as  Divine  and 
supreme,  that  the  Word  became  flesh,  and  passed 
through  its  grievous  incidents,  and  entered  into  sympa- 
thetic pity  for  its  sins  and  fears.     The  most  alienated 


ON    OUR    PllESENT    THEOLOGY.  381 

feeling,  once  apprehending  this  manifestation  of  Divine 
adoption,  could  hold  out  no  more.  Such  an  Incarna- 
tion, bringing  to  a  focus  the  perpetual  truth  of  the 
"  God  with  us,"  is  not  a  humiliation  of  the  divine  na- 
tnie  so  nmch  as  the  glory  and  joy  of  the  human,  and 
discloses  to  us  not  a  fallen  world  but  a  redeemed,  with 
whose  resistance  the  "  Spirit  of  holiness"  will  not  for 
ever  have  to  strive.  It  harmonizes  \vith  "  the  belief 
that  man  is  not  an  animal  carrying  about  a  soul,  but  a 
spiritual  being  with  an  animal  nature,  who,  when  he 
has  sunk  lowest  into  that  nature,  has  still  thoughts  and 
recollections  of  a  home  to  which  he  belongs,  and  from 
which  !,e  has  wandered."  * 

The  same  mode  of  thought  by  which  the  individual 
life  is  thus  turned  into  a  sanctuary  exhibits  human  so- 
ciety as  in  its  essence  a  theocracy  ;  and  wins  for  the 
experiences  and  polity  of  the  Hebrew  race,  as  particular 
embodiments  of  a  universal  method,  a  meaning  which 
Lessing's  hints  ought  long  ago  to  have  elicited.      Not 

cr>  COO 

that  we  mean  to  press  at  all  closely  the  analogy  be- 
tween the  doctrine  of  the  "  Prophets  and  Kings  of  the 
Old  Testament,"  and  the  "  Tlioughts  on  the  Education 
of  the  Human  Race."  They  are  alike  in  this  :  that 
they  pull  down  the  fences  which  had  detached  the  He- 
brew life  from  the  gi'eat  territory  of  human  history,  and 
find  a  universal  function  for  even  Avhat  is  most  excep- 
tional in  it.  In  their  mode  of  procedure,  however,  they 
differ:  Lessing  seeking  in  the  career  of  the  Jewish 
])('<)p!e  the  rudiments  of  an  tin  fold  i)i(/  idcn  ;  Maurice, 
the  witness  to  etarnal  truths,  —  the  manifestation  by 
time-samj)les  of  infinite  realities  and  unchanging  rchi- 

*  Haru's  Ciiarycs,  Introduction,  p  xxi. 


882  PERSONAL   INFLUENCES 

tions.  And  this  cllffcrcncc  toiiclios  :i  characteristic  of 
the  living  divine,  which  more  than  any  other  makes  him 
a  perplexity  to  his  contemporary  critics.  So  strong  in 
most  Englishmen  is  the  "natural  man,"  as  habitually 
to  assume,  till  they  discover  whither  the  maxim  leads, 
that  "  all  we  know  is  phenomena ;  "  or  rather  they  turn 
all  they  know  hito  phenomena,  and  contemplate  nothing 
"  under  the  form  of  eternity."  Even  their  theology  is 
no  exception.  ll\\(iy  dramilize  \t',  drawing  it  out  into 
an  economy  or  plot,  with  different  scenes,  and  progres- 
sive action,  and  crises  of  terror  and  of  rescue,  and  a 
grand  catastrophe  to  wind  up  the  whole.  Now  the  ele- 
ments and  incidents  of  this  plan  Mr.  Maurice  takes  out 
of  series,  and  redistributes  in  synchronous  (or  rather  in 
timeless)  relations.  States  of  hiunanily  which  we  are 
apt  to  represent  as  successive,  and  to  string  together  as 
passages  of  an  historical  j)roccss,  he  treats  as  always 
co-existent  in  all  men,  —  as  abiding  attributes  or  affec- 
tions of  their  being.  "Original  sin,"  for  instance,  is 
not,  in  his  view,  a  prior  condition  giving  way  to  "rec- 
onciliation "  as  a  jMsleriur ;  but  both  exist  together  in 
all  men.  And  so  too  Divine  states,  which  we  are  com- 
monly taught  to  dispose  chronologically,  cease  with  him 
to  be  separate.  Christ  the  Saviour  is  usually  believed 
to  have  first  come  at  the  "advent,"  and  to  be  identical 
in  date  with  Jesus  of  Nazareth.  But,  in  Mr.  Maurice's 
view,  there  never  was  a  time  when  oiir  race  was  not 
equally  the  abode  of  His  "real  presence."  "Man,  ac- 
cording to  his  original  constitution,  was  related  to 
Christ ; "  *  who  was  in  the  heathen  world  while  they 
were  bowing  to  gods  of  wood  and  stone,  and  in  Saul 
*  The  Doctrine  of  Sacrifice.    Dedicator}-  Le'ter,  p.  21. 


ox    OUR    PRESENT    THEOLOGY.  383 

wliiie  yet  tlic  persecutor.  The  conversion  on  Damas- 
cus'ruael,  and  the  whole  historical  gos[)el,  did  but  reveal 
a  Divine  person  that  had  never  been  absent  from  our 
humanity,  Thei'C  was  not  —  first,  a  lost  Heathendom; 
aiid  then,  to  rej)lace  it,  a  redeemed  Christendom  :  but 
always,  and  throughout  both,  One  who  was  and  is 
redeeming;  and  many,  alas,  in  each,  who  resist  this  re- 
call of  them  from  their  outer  darkness.  This  abolition 
of  tiine-eondltions,  and  redis[)osal  of  the  same  facts  as 
essential  and  pern)anent  realities,  gives  the  true  key  to 
our  author's  most  difficult  writings.  The  transmutation 
it  effects  in  the  doctrine  of  "  eternal  punishment "  is  but 
one  example  of  its  marvellous  power  of  rejuvenescence 
ap])lied  to  a  theology  grown  decrej)it  in  routine. 

The  great  strength  of  this  school  lies,  we  think,  in  its 
f'.ithful  interpretation  of  what  is  at  once  deepest  and 
highest  in  the  religious  consciousness  of  men  ;  and  its 
recognition,  in  this  consciousness,  of  a  concrete  and 
living  Divine  person,  instead  of  mere  abstractions  with- 
out authority,  or  the  dreams  of  unreliable  imagination. 
And  we  may  well  be  grateful  for  a  scheme  which  estab- 
lishes a  uniform  couHtllalion  of  our  nature  and  our 
world,  in  .stefuhj  relation  to  supernatural  realities, 
broken  by  no  revolutionary  jerks  or  local  exemptions  ; 
and  which,  therefore,  opens  a  welcome  to  a  scientific 
ethic,  and  metaphysic,  and  history.  Nor  is  iJs  strength 
merely  that  of  fair  promise  and  earnest  appeal.  So 
long  as  it  advances  on  the  ground  of  religious  philoso- 
|)hy,  it  appears  to  us  to  make  its  t'ooting  good  :  and  tlio 
first  questionable  step  is,  perhaps,  at  the  point  whcie 
it  enters  hisf.on/,  and  hands  itself  over  from  Plato 
to   St.   John.      The  identification   of  the  eternal   Lo'^os 


384  I'KUSOXAL    INFLUENCES 

•with  the  historical  Christ  is  at  present  left  to  rest  upon 
external  authority  alone,  —  and  that  too  the  authority 
of  a  sinule  evanuelist.  A  thouiihtful  learner  in  this 
fichocl  niiuht  be  brou^^ht  by  some  Alexandrine  Colei'idge 
into  .1  faith  like  Philo's  in  the  Divine  Word,  and  set 
within  the  spiritual  forecourt  of  this  gospel.  He  niight 
next,  on  testimonial  grounds,  be  led  to  receive  the 
whole  evangelical  series  of  external  facts  from  Beth- 
lehem to  the  Mount  of  Ascension.  And  yet  these  two 
termini  of  his  belief  might  remain  in  painful  discontinu- 
ity :  and  we  do  not  see  that  the  links  of  relation  have 
liitherto  been  adequately  supplied.  If  the  whole  stress 
is  to  be  laid  on  the  doctrine  of  the  fourth  gospel,  the 
question  becomes  an  anxious  one,  how  far  the  evan- 
gelist's thought  has  taken  its  complexion  from  the  Mas- 
ter's discourses.  —  how  far  infused  it  into  them.  For 
sin-ely,  without  re-opening  the  discussion  of  authorship 
at  all,  the  complete  equalization  of  tone  in  this  gospel 
between  the  discourses  and  the  narrative,  rendering  it 
often  impossible  to  mark  the  boundary  between  them,  is 
a  fact  of  the  utmost  moment,  —  in  itself  accounted  for  in 
either  way  :  and  if  the  discourses  are  as  loilike  thnse 
in  the  other  gospels  as  they  are  like  the  personal  com- 
position of  St.  John,  the  hypothesis  most  assuring  to 
us  respecting  tiieir  historical  character  is  at  an  undeni- 
able disadvantage.  Siiiftcd  from  the  authentication  of 
Christ  himself  to  that  of  even  "the  l)eloved  disciple,"  the 
Jncarnntion  of  the  Logos  in  Jesus  (in  the  sense  requiicd 
by  the  theoiy)  would  rest  on  too  doubtful  a  support  : 
for  who  could  say  wlietlier  we  had  to  do  with  the  revela- 
tion itself,  or  only  w  ith  the  mould  of  thought  into  which 
the  disciple  threw  it  ? 


ON    OUR    TKESEXT    THEOLOGY.  385 

'J'lint  this  difficulty  has  not  been  more  felt  by  tlie 
Coleridge  divines  is  due,  we  believe,  to  the  prc-occu- 
])ation  of  their  minds  witii  intense  convictions,  thirsting 
ior  that  which  assnnilates  with  them  or  gains  a  glory 
from  them.  Broad  providential  lights  on  history,  genial 
hopes  of  a  less  selfish  human  world,  they  open  to  us 
by  their  wisdom  and  their  life.  And  there  are  parts 
of  Scripture,  the  Pauline  Epistles  eminently,  and  the 
Prophets  in  no  slight  degree,  where  a  dai-kness  readily 
breaks  away  at  the  approach  of  their  chai'acteristio 
thouglits.  Mr.  Maurice's  Unity  of  tlie  JVew  Testa- 
ment abounds  with  happy  combinations  possible  only 
to  a  fine  spiritual  tact.  But  exegesis  has  work  to  do 
in  which  other  gifts  are  of  more  avail  than  moral  per- 
ception and  religious  insight :  and  then  it  is  that  these 
writers,  like  their  favorite  catechetical  school  of  Alex- 
andria, appear  to  us  signally  to  fail.  AV'ho  does  not 
smile  at  Mr.  jNIaurice's  explanation  of  the  first  chap- 
ter of  Genesis?  And  where,  in  addition,  critical  judg- 
ment and  dexterity  are  required,  the  result  is  still 
worse,  —  as  in  his  treatment  of  the  genealogies  of 
Jesus.  No  deficiency  in  the  furniture  of  scholarship 
causes  this  phenomenon.  It  is  simply  that  biblical  and 
historical  criticism  never  succeeds,  except  in  striking 
out  partial  lights,  when  it  engages  minds  deeply  tinc- 
tured with  any  nietaphj'sical  or  spiritual  enthusiasm. 
The  eye,  accustomed  to  the  eternal  realities,  loses  the 
cpiick  and  fiitting  glance  that  best  seizes  the  expression 
of  nature  and  the  phenomena  of  time. 

After  all,  the  real  force  of  this  school  is  independent 
of  scientific  imperfections.  They  nvc  believinc/  vien  — 
afraid  of  no  reality,  despairing  of  no  good,  and  resolute 


866  PERSONAL    INFLUENCES 

to  test  tlicir  faitli  l)y  puttini^  it  striii^litwiiy  into  I  ro. 
They  set  to  work  to  realize  the  kingdom  of  God  in  S(»1)0 
Sqiiiire  and  other  nanieahle  h)oalitiej« ;  and  in  their  step 
towarcLs  this  end  there  is  as  free,  eonfidini;,  joyf'nl  move- 
ment, as  if  with  their  eyes  they  expected  to  sec  the 
great  salvation.  There  is  more  of"  the  f'utnre,  we  sns- 
pect,  contained  in  their  gosjjcl  than  in  any  talking 
theology  whose  cry  is  heard   in  our  streets. 

Hence  we  feel  onrselves  to  he  falling  bdck  a  step, 
when  we  turn  from  the  preacher  of  Lincoln's  Inn  to 
the  prophet  of  Chelsea.  'I'he  influence  of  the  latter, 
vastly  the  more  intense  and  widespread,  appears  to  us  to 
liave  reached  its  natural  limit,  and  taken  up  the  portion 
of  believers  allotted  to  it.  As  a  rev()lution;n-v  or  pen- 
tecostal  power  on  the  sentiments  of  Englishmen,  it  is 
perhajis  nearly  sj)ent :  and,  like  the  romantic  school  of 
Germany,  will  descend  from  the  high  level  of  a  faith 
to  the  tranquil  honors  of  literature.  So  long  as  Mr. 
Carlyle  spoke  with  any  Jtopc  to  the  inward  reverence  of 
men,  and  in  giving  voice  to  their  si)iritual  discontents 
made  them  feel  that  they  were  emeriiins;  from  mean 
scepticisms  into  noi)lcr  inspirations,  he  was  a  deliverer 
to  captives  out  of  number.  But  the  early  voice  of  hope 
has  become  fainter  and  fainter,  first  |)as.<ing  into  an 
infinite  pathos,  and  then  lost  in  humorous  mocking  or 
immeasurable  scorn  :  and  men  cannot  be  permanently 
lield  by  their  antipathies  and  distrusts,  and  cease  to  look 
for  any  thing  from  a  rebellion  that  never  ends  in  peace. 
He  gets  us  well  enough  out  of  Kgypt  and  all  its  filthy 
idolatries  ;  but,  alas  !  his  Red  Sea  will  not  divide,  and 
the  promised  land  is  far  as  ever,  and  the  question 
presses,  whether  "  we  are  to  die  in  the   wilderness  ? " 


ON    OUR    niESEXT    THEOLOGY.  387 

FcT  a  just  estimate  of  ^Ir.  Carlyle  as  an  liistorlan  and 
man  of  letters  the  time  is  not  yet  come.  But  his  spe- 
cific action  on  the  religion  of  the  age  (of  wliich  alone 
we  speak)  ah-eady  belongs  in  a  great  measure  to  the 
past,  and  is  little  likely  to  offer  new  elements  for  appi'e- 
ciation. 

It  is  difficult  now  to  transfer  ourselves  back  into  the 
age,  not  yet  faded  however  from  living  memory,  when 
Btiileau  and  Karnes  Avere  great  canonists  in  the  world 
of  letters,  and  criticism  occupied  the  mortal  form  of 
Dr.  Blair.  Of  what  stuff  the  young  souls  of  that  age 
could  be  made  we  cannot  imagine,  if  they  really 
found  nutriment  in  solenm  trifles  about  the  unities  and 
})roprieties,  —  the  choice  of  diction,  —  the  length  of 
sentences,  —  the  nature  of  troj^es,  —  and  the  rhetorical 
temperature  required  for  interjection  and  apostrophes. 
Mr.  Carlyle,  among  other  contemporaries,  certaiidy  rose 
with  indignant  hunger  from  such  a  tal)le  of  the  gods, 
symmetrically  spread  with  })()lished  covers  and  nothing 
under  them.  In  mere  analysis  of  the  mnchincry  of  ex- 
pression or  even  thouglit,  in  rules  for  the  manufacture 
of  literary  effects,  lie  could  find  no  res])onse  to  the  en- 
thusiasm kindled  in  him  by  his  favorite  authors.  The 
true  ambrosia  of  the  inner  life  was  turned  into  dry  ash 
by  the  legislators  of  belles  lettres :  and  he  was  courage- 
ous enough  to  ask  for  the  missina;  and  innnortal  element. 
The  same  externnl  direction  had  been  taken  by  philoso- 
phy, and  produced  the  same  consciousness  of  a  miserable 
void.  The  searching  scepticism  of  Hume  showed  the 
dreary  results  to  whieh  the  more  analysis  of  "expoi-i- 
ence"  compendiously  led.  And  the  devices  of  utilitarian 
cuisine  for  putting  pleasure  into  the  pot  and  drawing 


888  PEKSOXAL    INFLUENCES 

virtue  o«it  hotraycd  the  loss  of  the  very  idea  of  morals. 
The  very  thiiii^s  which  this  desiceating  rationalism  flmig 
off,  were  to  Mr.  Carlyle  just  the  essence  and  whole 
worth  of  the  universe :  and  to  show  that  beauty,  truth, 
and  goodnQss,  could  not  thus  be  got  rid  of,  while  impos- 
tors were  hired  to  hear  their  name  ;  that  religion  is  not 
hope  and  fear,  or  duty  prudence,  or  art  a  skill  to  please ; 
that  behind  the  sensible  theie  lies  a  spiritual,  and  be- 
neath all  relative  phenomena  an  absolute  reality,  —  was 
evidently,  if  not  his  early  vow,  at  least  his  first  in- 
spiration. Surely  it  was  an  authentic  appointment  to 
a  noble  work  :  and  on  looking  back  over  his  quarter- 
century,  no  one  can  deny  that  it  has  been  manfully 
achieved. 

By  what  providence  Mr.  Carlyle  learned  the  German 
language,  in  <lays  when  the  study  of  it  was  rare,  we 
cannot  tell.  But  through  it  he  evidently  was  enabled 
to  "  find  his  soul ;  "  and  gained  confidence  to  proclaim 
the  faith  which  was  stirring  from  its  sleep  within,  and 
at  once  woke  up  at  the  siglit  of  its  reflected  image  with- 
out. That  revolt  against  rationalism  which  Dr.  New- 
man apparently  used,  and  directed  for  [)reconceived  ends 
and  in  the  service  of  an  "e(ujnomy,"  presents  itself 
in  Mr.  Carlyle  with  all  its  veracious  freshness.  The 
same  positions  that  approve  themselves  to  the  Oxford 
Catholic  as  suitable  hypotheses,  and  to  the  Highgate 
philosopher  as  rational  axioms,  are  seized  by  the  liv- 
ing intuition  of  the  Scottish  seer ;  —  that  wonder  and 
reverence  are  the  condition  of  insight  and  the  source  of 
strength  ;  —  that  faith  is  prior  to  knowledge,  and  deeper 
too ;  —  that  empirical  science  can  but  play  on  the  sur- 
face  of   unfathomable  mysteries ;  —  that   in   the  order 


ON    OUR    PRESENT    THEOLOGY.  380 

of  ve.ility  tlic  ideal  and  invisible  is  the  world's  true 
adnniant,  iuid  the  laws  of  materinl  appeai'ance  only  its 
;dluvial  gTovvths.  In  the  inmost  thought  of  men  there 
is  a  thirst  to  which  the  springs  of  nature  are  a  mere 
njirage,  and  Avhich  presses  on  to  the  waters  of  eternity. 
Extinguish  this  thirst  by  stupefaction  of  custom,  —  re- 
duce thought  to  Avork  ^v it hout  wonder, — and  several 
delusions,  both  doleful  and  ridicidous,  will  speedily 
obtain  high  commissions  in  human  affairs.  The  true 
mai-vel  of  Origination  being  lost,  a  "  cause-and-effect 
])hilosophy  "  will  esteem  every  thing  solved  when  it  has 
shown  how  each  nine-pin  in  the  universe  knocks  down 
the  next.  The  s[)iritual  germ  and  essence  of  humanity 
being  forgot  or  denied,  "  a  doctrine  of  circumstances' 
will  discuss  the  jjrospect  of  furnishing  to  order  any  re- 
quired sui)ply  of  poets,  philosophers,  or  able  administi-a- 
tors,  —  like  so  many  varieties  of  farm-stock.  The  idea 
of  a  God-given  freedom  being  dismissed  with  the  phan- 
toms of  "the  dark  ages,"  a  calculus  of  "motives"  will 
be  invented  for  finding  the  roots  of  every  human  prob- 
lem, and  raising  any  given  sentient  man  to  any  required 
moral  power.  The  genuine  ground  of  all  C(jmmunioii 
with  the  Infinite  having  sunk  away  within  us,  all  sorts 
of  logical  j)roofs,  and  logical  disproofs,  will  (piarrel  to- 
gether about  primitive  certainties  that  shroud  themselves 
from  both.  In  nil  these  complaints,  the  substantive  con- 
currence of  our  autiior  with  Mr.  Coleridge  is  conspicuous. 
And  though,  in  his  Lij'c  of  Sterlhij,  the  humor  hiis 
seized  him  to  I'idicide  the  "windy  harangues"  and  diz- 
7,ying  metaphysics  of  the  ITighgate  soirdes,  there  was  a 
time  when  he  had  Ui)  little  faith  in  the  same  methods  as 
well   as  iar<2:e  aureemeut  in  the  same  results.     In  hia 


390  PERSONAL   rXI'LUEXCES 

earlier  essays,  he  too  expounds  the  distinction  between 
"  Understand  in  If"  and  "Reason,"  and  sets  up  the  latter 
as  the  organ  for  apprehendinii^  the  ideal  essence,  which 
is  the  true  real  of  things.  lie  speaks  with  reverential 
appreciation  of  Kant's  doctrine,  both  metaphysical  and 
moral ;  and  with  hope  as  well  as  admiration  of  the 
several  aesthetic  theories  developed  from  similar  begin- 
nings. In  short,  he  manifestly  put  an  early  trust  in 
the  philosophical  method  to  which  Coleridge  remained 
faithful  to  the  last.  And  not  less  manifestly  did  he 
soon  break  away  from  this  path  in  despair ;  and  with 
characteristic  vehemence  thenceforth  inveigh  ajrainst  the 
propensity  to  seek  it  as  an  illusion  of  disease.  In  1827, 
ho  defended  the  Kritilc  der  reinen  Vernunft  against 
ignorant  objectors,  as  reputed  by  competent  judges  to 
be  "'distinctly  the  greatest  intellectual  achievement  of 
the  century  in  which  it  came  to  light ; "  and  dwelt  with 
approval  on  the  rule  that,  in  quest  of  the  highest  truth, 
we  must  look  loithin,  and  thence  work  outward  with  the 
torch  we  have  lit.  Yet  in  1831  he  broached,  in  his 
Chiiracteri. sties,  his  celebrated  doctrine  of  "Unconscious- 
ness :  "  which  teaches  that  all  self-knowledge  is  a  cur^e, 
and  introspection  a  disease ;  that  the  true  health  of  a 
man  is  to  have  a  soul  without  being  avvare  of  it,  —  to 
be  disposed  of  by  impulses  which  he  never  criticises,  — 
to  fling  out  the  products  of  creative  genius  without  look- 
ing at  them.  In  a  word,  the  reflective  thought  on  which, 
in  the  former  year,  he  had  relied  for  the  purest  wisdom, 
had  in  the  latter  become  the  sin  and  despair  of  human- 
ity. What  can  have  befallen  in  the  interval?  Had  the 
author  meanwhile  tried  the  metaphysic  springs,  jukI 
after   due   patience    found    them,    not   simply    "saints 


ON    OUR    PUESEXT    TIIKOLOGY.  391 

w^ells,"  with  no  healing  in  them,  but  poison-fountains, 
that  made  the  sickly  soul  yet  sicklier?  We  do  not 
believ6  it :  for  there  is  nowhere  any  trace  that  the  first 
clue  of  entrance  into  the  German  philosophy  had  been 
followed  up  ;  and  on  the  other  hand,  every  indication 
that  Mr.  Carlyle's  denunciation  of  metaphysics  is  the 
mere  judgment  of  an  intuitive  genius  on  methods  of 
reflection,  wh'ch,  however  helpful  to  slower  and  more 
forn>al  minds,  it  is  not  given  him  to  take.  Had  he 
been  able  to  retain  and  pursue  his  first  hope,  —  had 
he  taken  the  severe  path  of  philosophical  discipline, 
and  surrendered  himself  to  its  promise  of  deliverance, 
—  we  hardly  think  that  we  should  ever  have  heard  that 
passionate  cry  of  despair,  which  proclaims  the  distinctive 
glory  of  man  to  be  his  irremediable  woe,  and  assei'ts 
tlmt,  in  finding  himself,  he  for  ever  falls  from  heaven. 
Tlie  preacher  of  this  doctrine  had  already  started  prob- 
lems within  himself,  to  which  no  answer  (as  ins  o  vn 
word  declares)  could  be  foiuid  but  by  faithful  question- 
ing witiiin  :  and  it  is  a  serious  thing  to  go  thus  far,  and 
yet  not  abide  long  enougii  to  hear  the  reply.  But  in- 
stead of  this,  he  flings  away  the  very  problems  with  a 
shriek,  as  the  fruit  by  which  paradise  is  lost ;  repents 
of  all  knowledge  of  good  and  evil  ;  claps  a  bandage 
round  the  open  eyes  of  morals,  religion,  art;  and  sees 
no  salvation  but  in  spiritual  suicide,  by  plunging  into 
the  currents  of  instinctive  nature  that  sweep  us  we 
know  not  whither.  Tins  tragic  paradox  has,  indeed, 
a  generous  source,  and  is  even  thrown  up  by  a  cer- 
tain wild  tumultuous  piety.  It  si)rings  from  a  dtvp 
sense  of  the  hatcfulncss  of  self-worship,  and  the  bar- 
renness of  mere  self-formation.      It  is  a  stormy  pruyov 


3U2  PERSONAL   INFLUENCES 

for  escape  from  these  ;  only  with  face  turned,  alas  !  in 
the  wrong  direction  —  back  towards  the  west,  with  its 
fading  visions  of  Atlantic  it-lands  of  Unconscioifsncss, 
instead  of  forwards  to  the  east,  where  already  the 
heavens  are  pale  with  a  light,  instead  of  a  darkness, 
not  our  own. 

Though  this  despair  of  tlie  highest  objective  truth 
could  not  fail,  in  the  long-run,  to  produce  patlietic  and 
tempestuous  results,  yet  for  a  while  the  mere  deliverance 
from  the  negations  of  the  empirical  schools  sufficed  for 
a,  gospel  :  and  the  new  sense  of  divine  mystery  and 
meaning,  behind  all  that  met  the  conunon  eye,  was 
little  else  in  effect  than  a  revelation.  A  certain  conse- 
cration fell  on  what  had  been  quite  secular  before  :  and 
with  this  peculiarity,  that  its  influence  spread  as  an  un- 
derground beneath  the  foundations  of  objects  and  pur- 
suits [)reviously  disconnected,  and  became  a  conunon 
conductor  of  fresh  reverence  into  them  all.  Literature, 
art,  politics,  natural  knowledge,  seemed  to  sit  less  apart 
from  religion.  Heave  off  the  utilitarian  incubus  from 
above,  and  secret  affinities  begin  to  be  felt  at  the  roots 
of  their  life.  When  it  is  no  longer  "the  sole  aim"  of 
poetry  "to  j)lease,''  of  science  to  "get  fruit"  for  the 
storehouses  of  comfort,  of  government  "to  [)rotect  body 
and  goods,"  of  sculpture  and  painting  to  minister  to  "S^ 
luxury,  —  they  obtain  ideal  ends,  which  in  essence 
melt  and  merge  together;  and  all  of  them  —  beauty, 
truth,  and  righteousness  —  culminate  in  the  reality  of 
God.  Whatever  the  theologians  may  say,  the  Jige 
owes  a  debt  of  rare  gratitude  to  the  man  who,  above 
all  others,  has  awakened  this  new  sense  within  its  soul , 
has   touched  with   a   strange  devoutness  many  u  class 


ON    OUU    PRESENT    THEOLOGY.  393 

which  book  and  surplice  had  ceased  to  awe ;  has  taken 
the  impertinent  self-will  out  of  the  movements  of  pencil, 
pen,  and  chisel ;  and  made  even  Mechanics'  Institutions 
ashamed  of  their  incipient  millennimn  of  "  useful  knowl- 
edge." The  influence  of  Mr.  Carlyle's  writings,  and 
especially  of  his  Sartor  Itesartus,  has  been  primarily 
exerted  on  classes  of  men  most  exposed  to  temptations 
of  egotism  and  [)etulance,  and  least  subjected  to  any 
thing  above  them,  —  academics,  artists,  litterateurs, 
"strong-minded"  women,  "debatnig"  youths,  Scotch- 
men of  the  phrenological  grade,  and  Irishmen  of  the 
Younar- Ireland  school.  In  the  altered  mood  of  mind 
which  has  been  induced  in  these  various  groups  within 
the  last  five-and-twenty  years  we  acknowledge  a  con- 
spicuous good ;  and  could  even  hear,  with  more  of 
sadness  than  of  condemnation,  the  passionate  woixls 
that  once  burst  fioni  the  lips  of  a  believer:  "  Carlyle 
is  my  religion  !  " 

The  unity,,  however,  which  our  prophet's  mystic 
sense  discerns  among  our  human  "arts  and  sciences"  is 
too  great :  sind  we  nuist  reclaim  from  him  a  distinction 
which  not  even  the  fusing  power  of  his  genius  can  do 
more  than  blur  and  conceal.  Not  in  the  human  and 
moral  world  only,  but  quite  similavly  in  the  physical, 
does  he  see  the  expression  of  the  Infinite  and  Divine. 
Both  are  alike  symbols  of  the  one  spiritual  essence, 
which  is  hid  from  the  blind,  and  revealed  to  the  wise,  in 
all.  lie  does  not,  like  Coleridge,  separate  nature  and 
sjiirit  into  two  realms,  quite  differently  related  to  Him 
who  is  the  source  of  both,  —  the  one  His  moulded 
fabric,  the  other  His  free  image,  —  but  treats  them  in- 
discriminately as  the  vehicles  of  His  manifestation,  and 


894  PERSONAL   INFLUENCES 

phenomena  through  which  the  Divine  force  pours. 
Tills  is  not,  indeed,  done  by  sinking  hutniinlty  into  a 
mere  object  of  natural  history  ;  rather  by  raising  the 
objects  of  natural  history  up  to  the  spiritual  level,  add- 
ing significance  to  them,  instead  of  taking  it  from  us. 
But  still,  man  is  not  permitted  to  remain  quite  sui gene- 
ris:  he  is  simply  the  highest  of  the  countless  emblems 
woven  into  the  universal  "  garment  of  God."  The  tex- 
ture is  one  and  homogeneous  throughout :  —  in  one 
sense  all  natural,  as  a  determinate  product  in  time  ;  in 
another,  all  supernatural,  as  mysteriously  issuing  from 
eternity.  The  same  comprehensive  formula,  —  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  Infinite  in  the  finite,  —  serves  every- 
where, and  equally  describes  "  the  lily  of  the  field  "  and 
the  Redeemer  who  Inter[)reted  Its  meaning. 

Did  we  want  to  turn  human  life  Into  a  mere  school  of 
Art,  there  might  be  nothing  very  fatal  In  the  looseness 
of  tills  doctrine.  An  impartial  conception  of  some 
Divine  idea  in  every  thing  may  clear  away  the  film  of 
sense,  and  open  to  view  the  life  of  much  that  else  were 
dead.  To  rend  away  the  veil  is  the  grand  condition  for 
enabling  the  eye  to  see  :  whoever  does  this,  msiy  talk  as 
he  ])leases  of  the  realities  behind ;  they  will  vindicate 
themselves.  Yet  even  for  truth  of  representation,  and 
infinitely  more  for  fiiithfulness  of  character  and  action,  a 
distinctive  reverence  for  man  as  more  than  natural,  fvs 
the  abode  of  God  In  a  sense  quite  false  of  clouds  and 
stars,  as  intrusted  with  himself  that  he  may  surrender 
to  a  higher,  —  is  indispensable.  For  want  of  this, 
Mr.  Carlyle  loses  all  ground  of  difference  between  the 
natural  and  the  right, — the  out-come  of  tendency  and 
tlie  free  creations  of  conscience.     He  is  tempted  into  ex- 


ox    OUR   rPtESENT    THEOLOGY.  395 

cessive  adminition  of  niei*e  renliziiig  strength,  irrespective 
of  any  higher  test  of  spiritual  worth.  A^^hatever  can 
get  upon  its  teet,  and  pei'sist  in  standing  on  tlii.s  world, 
is  vindicated  in  his  eyes,  and  exhibited  as  a  sample  ot 
the  "eternal  laws:"  while  that  which  has  nothing  to 
show  for  itself  except  that  it  ought  to  be,  —  righteous- 
ness that  knocks  in  vain  at  the  door  of  visible  "  fact,  " 
—  meets  with  no  sympathy  from  him,  and  is  even  jeered 
for  its  foolish  patience  in  still  sitting  on  the  step  with 
unremitting  ])rayer.  True,  he  docs  not  admit  the  rights 
of  possession  till  after  a  pretty  long  term,  and  knows 
liow  to  treat  the  "shams"  and  uj)stnrts  of  to-day,  the 
"flunkey"  powers  that  usurp  more  venerable  placed 
with  withering  scorn:  —  still,  iiowever,  for  a  reason 
which  would  equally  condenm  an  as[)iration  transcend- 
ing human  conditions,  viz.  because  they  arc  at  variance 
with  the  laws  of  the  actual,  and  are  sure  to  be  disowned 
by  the  baffling  solidity  of  nature.  Against  the  fickle 
multitude  of  momentary  facts  and  popular  semblances, 
lie  sides  with  the  conservative  aristocracy  of  natural 
laws  ;  but  recognizes  no  divine  monarchy  with  preroga- 
tives over  both.  The  kingdom  of  heaven  and  the  king- 
dom of  nature  being  identical,  neither  transcending  the 
other,  but  being  related  only  as  inner  meaning  and  out- 
ward expression,  no  margin  is  left  for  an  ideid  other 
than  the  long-run  of  the  actual,  —  f)r  an  "ought"  be- 
yond the  "can,"  —  for  a  will  of  God  surpassing  finite 
conditions.  Hence  Mr.  Carlyle's  habit  of  resolving  all 
ethical  c\\\  into  "insincerity  "  and  "unveracity," — surely 
a  most  inadequate  formula  for  the  expression  of  even 
commonplace  moral  judgments.  Extend  these  terms 
CM  er   so   much,  —  use   them   to   dem  te  iDiconsciouit  as 


396  PERSONAL    INFLUENCES 

well  as  conscious  self-variance,  —  nay,  inchulc  in  them 
also  defiance  of  nature  and  ouficdrd  possibih'ti/, 
f-(ill,  >vhjit  far-fctcliod  circuits  must  he  taken  before  you 
can  brin^*-  under  such  a  definition  the  sins  of  envy,  cov- 
ctousness,  resentment,  and  prudent  licentiousness  !  The 
root  of  this  delusive  conception  of  human  goodness  lies 
in  the  pantheistic  assumption,  tiiat  to  fly  in  the  face  of 
natural  forces  is  to  withstand  the  highest  that  there  is  ; 
and  its  fruit,  when  fidly  ripe,  cannot  fail  to  be  an  indif- 
ference to  many  a  natural  sin, —  a  lowering-  of  the  ideal 
standard  of  conscience,  and  a  derision  of  baffled  yet 
trust ini>-  rii^hteousness.  Every  reader  of  Mr.  Carlyle 
can  remember  painful  instances  of  entire  abdication  of 
all  moral  judgment  on  atrocious  actions  and  abandoned 
men, — a  Mirabeau  and  a  Sci)tember  massacre:  nay, 
even  ridicide  of  tJie  whole  distinction  of  moral  and  im- 
moral applied  to  actions,  as  "  the  blockliead's  distinc- 
tion ;  "  and  many  a  hint  that  the  difference  lies  only 
in  the  customaHness  {mores)  of  one  practice  as  com- 
pared with  another.  Did  it  never  occur  to  him  to  ask 
whether  it  is  the  human  usages  that  make  the  mtnal 
sense,  or  not  rather  the  moral  sense  that  makes  the 
human  usages? 

Yet  this  questionable  doctrine,  often  provoked  into 
expression  by  some  senseless  prudery  or  ungenial  rigor, 
is  very  far  fi-om  I'epresenting  the  author's  real  and  deep- 
est mind.  Flashes  of  purer  liglit  meet  you  not  rarely, 
especially  in  his  earlier  writings.  Who  can  forget  how, 
in  the  hour  of  uttermost  desolation,  amid  the  wiMcst 
storm  of  unbelief,  the  sheet-anchor  of  the  unhappy  Tcu- 
felsdrijckh  was  the  ^^ infinite  nature  of  Duty;"''  and 
in  this   form   never,  in   his   utmost   extremity,   did   the 


ON    OUR    PRESENT    THEOLOGY.  397 

Divine  presence  desert  him?  And  are  we  not  tcld,  in 
many  changing  tones,  tliat  in  obedience  and  reverence 
ah)ne  can  any  true  freedom  be  found  ?  that  we  are  to 
recognize  God  in  tlie  higher  Hfc  within  us,  as  op{)oscd 
to  tlie  pleasure-life?  that  we  can  find  Him  only  by  self- 
renunciation?  In  these  ingenious  days,  when  no  one 
j)roposition  is  so  rude  as  to  contradict  any  other,  some 
di^ciple  of  the  "  mtmy-sided  "  poet,  or  some  proficient 
in  the  "dialectic  process,"  may  be  able  to  harmonize 
such  sentiments  with  the  assertion  that  "  ?»««  cannot 
bnl  (ihey  whntever  lie  ought  to  obey.''''  At  present  we 
do  not  pretend  to  have  reached  the  "higher  unity"  in 
which  a[)peais  to  our  freedom  coalesce  with  the  assertion 
of  imiversal  necessity. 

To  i)ull  up  the  fence  between  "nature"  and  "spirit" 
within  us  is  to  throw  the  Understanding  and  the  Char- 
acter into  the  same  field.  AVe  are  therefiire  prepared 
for  the  celebrated  paradox,  that  intellect  and  goodness 
always  go  together ;  so  that,  of  mental  insight  and 
moral  soundness,  either  may  be  taken  as  the  measure 
of  the  other.  If  by  "intellect"  and  "insight"  is  meant 
exclusively  what  Coleridge  calls  "?'ert.so«,"  this  state- 
ment not  only  ceases  to  be  a  paradox,  but  becomes 
almost  a  truism  :  for  it  is  the  chief  function  of  this 
power  to  make  us  conscious  of  moral  truth  and  obli- 
gation ;  and  the  consciousness  fades  when  faithlessly 
neglected.  15ut  if  these  terms  refer  to  what  Coleridge 
calls  "  understand uifj,"  —  if  the  possession  of  this  en- 
dowment Constitutes  a  claim  upon  them,  —  then  the 
doctrine  is  conspicuously  false  :  for  the  "  adaptive  intel- 
ligence," being  an  animal  faculty,  is  entirely  separable 
from  moral  conditions  ;  actually  exists  without  them  in 


398  PERSONAL   INFLUENCES 

many  tribes  of  creatures ;  and  in  man  simply  rises  to  a 
quickness  of  generalization  and  a  skill  in  the  use  of 
means  wliicli  imply  notlung  respecting  the  wise  estimate 
or  the  faithful  j)ursuit  of  ends.  Low  passions  and  self- 
i.^ii  imj)ulses  are  quite  capable  of  enlisting  on  their 
behalf  all  the  resources  of  this  mental  gift ;  their  partner- 
ship with  winch  gives  us  the  idea  of  a  satanic  nature. 
Mr.  Carlyle,  we  believe,  means  to  say,  that  this  sort  of 
"  understanding  "  he  will  not  acknowledge  as  intellect ; 
it  is  a  mere  "beaver"  or  "fox"  faculty,  not  to  be  noticed 
among  the  distinctions  of  man.  Not  till  you  have  got 
beyond  mechanical  ingenuity  and  lawyer  adroitness  do 
you  enter  on  the  proper  human  territory  ;  within  whith, 
capacity  and  character  go  together.  This  interpretation, 
throwing  us  upon  Coleridge's  upper  region,  icduces  thv 
mjixira  to  an  intelligible  truth.  13ut  will  Mr.  Carlylo 
consent  to  take  it  with  all  its  fair  consequences?  Will 
he,  without  flinching,  read  the  truth  both  ways,  —  in- 
ferring either  term  of  this  constant  ratio  {"intellectual'^ 
and  "  mo7'aP')  from  the  magnitude  of  the  other?  ^\'e 
know  that,  where  he  discovers  (as  in  Mirabeau)  great 
force  of  mind,  he  is  ready  to  plead  this  in  bar  of  ail 
objections  against  character,  and  to  insist  that,  in  spite 
of  appearances,  such  brightness  of  eye  Diiist  carry  with 
it  soundness  of  conscience.  But  will  he  turn  the  prob- 
lem round,  and  abide  by  it  still?  When  he  finds, 
deep  hid  in  the  retreats  of  private  life,  a  goodness  emi- 
nent and  even  saintly,  a  moral  clearness  and  foire  great 
in  their  way  as  Mirabeaix's  keen-sightedness,  will  he 
accept  the  sign  in  evidence  of  mighty  intellect?  Will 
lie  say  that,  notwithst^inding  the  meek  and  homely  look, 
high  genius  must  assuredly  be  there  ?     We  fear  not : 


ON    OUU    rCESEXT    TIIEOhOGf.  39S 

at  least,  we  remember  no  instance  in  which  the  inference 
is  set  with  its  face  this  way  ;  wiiilst  it  is  familiar  to  all 
his  readers  as  an  excuse  for  admiration  startling  to  the 
moral  sense.  In  truth,  this  maxim,  more  perhaps  than 
any  other  indication,  expresses  the  iwgan  character  of 
our  author's  mind  ;  his  alienation  from  the  distinctively 
Christian  type  of  reverence,  rather  for  the  inner  sancti- 
ties of  self-renunciation  than  for  the  outward  energies  of 
self-assertion.  His  "hero-worships"  certainly  present  us 
with  a  list  far  from  concurrent  with  the  "beatitudes:" 
nor  can  we  fancy  that  he  would  listen  with  much  more 
patience  than  a  Lucian  or  a  Pliny  to  blessings  on  the 
meek  and  merciful,  the  pure  in  heart,  the  ever-thirsty 
after  righteousness.  For  him  too,  as  for  so  many  gift- 
ed and  ungifted  men,  the  force  which  will  not  be 
stopped  by  any  restraint  on  its  Avay  to  great  achieve- 
ment,—  the  genius  Avhich  claims  to  be  its  own  law, 
and  will  confess  nothing  diviner  than  itself,  —  have  an 
irresistible  fascination.  His  eye,  overlooking  the  land- 
scape of  humanity,  always  runs  up  to  the  brilliant  peaks 
of  'powtr :  not,  indeed,  without  a  glance  of  love  and 
pity  into  many  a  retreat  of  rpiiet  goodness  that  lies  safe 
beneath  their  shelter;  but  should  the  sudden  lightning, 
or  the  seasonal  melting  of  the  world's  ice-barriers,  bring 
down  a  ruin  on  that  green  and  feeble  life,  his  voice, 
after  one  faint  cry  of  pathos,  joins  in  with  the  thunder 
and  shouts  with  the  trium[)h  of  the  avalanche.  Ever 
watching  the  strife  of  the  great  forces  of  the  universe, 
he,  no  doubt,  sides  on  the  whole  against  the  Titans 
with  the  gods  :  but  if  the  Titans  make  a  happy  fling, 
and  send  home  a  mountain  or  two  to  the  very  beai'd  of 
Zeus,  he  gets  delighted  with  the  game  on  any  terms  and 
cries,  "Bravo'" 


400  PKKSONAL   INFLUENCES 

The  Sartor  Resartus  finds  the  manifestation  of  God 
in  the  entire  life  of  the  universe  ;  in  visiljle  nalnie  ;  in 
individual  man,  and  especially  his  higher  mind;  in  the 
inarch  and  process  of  history  ;  and  in  the  organic  devel- 
opment of  humanity  as  a  whole.  The  author's  tendency, 
however,  has  increasingly  been  to  retreat  from  all  other 
media  of  Divine  expression  upon  his  favorite  centre,  — 
the  genius  and  energy  of  heroic  men.  So  much  has 
he  gathercd-in  his  lights  of  interpretation  upon  this 
focus,  as  to  incur  the  charge  of  setting  up  the  jjcrsonal- 
ity  of  individuals  as  the  single  determining  agency  in 
the  affairs  of  the  world,  and  forgetting  the  larger  half 
of  the  truth,  that  all  persons,  taken  one  by  one,  are  but 
elements  of  a  great  social  organism,  to  whose  laws  of 
providential  growth  they  must  be  held  subordinate. 
History  cannot  be  resolved  into  a  mere  series  of  biogra- 
phies :  uor  can  the  individual  be  justly  estimated  in  his 
insulation,  and  tried  by  the  mere  inner  law  of  his  own 
particular  nature.  It  would  be  a  melancholy  outlook 
for  the  world,  if  its  courses  were  simply  contingent  on 
the  genius  and  life  of  a  few  great  men,  without  any 
security  from  a  general  law  behind  that  they  should 
appear  at  the  right  time  and  place,  and  with  the  apti- 
tudes for  the  needful  work.  And,  on  tlie  other  hand, 
were  the  life  of  nations  to  be  expended  in  n(Jthing  else 
than  the  production  of  its  half-dozen  heroes  ;  were  this 
splendid  but  scanty  blossoming  the  great  and  only  real 
thing  it  does,  there  would  seem  to  be  a  wasteful  dispro- 
portion between  the  mighty  forest  that  falls  for  lum- 
ber and  the  sparse  fruit  that  would  lie  upon  your  opeu 
hand.  There  is  need,  therefore,  of  some  more  manifest 
relation  between  individual  greatness  and  the  collective 


ox    OUR   PRESENT    THEOLOGY.  401 

life  of  humanity;  and  to  save  us  from  egoism,  from 
fatalism,  from  arbitrary  and  capricious  morals,  we  must 
learn  to  recognize  a  divine  method  of  development  in 
both. — prinicn^ilt/,  in  race  and  nation,  and  with  author- 
ity over  the  secondary  functions  of  personal  genius. 

That  ]Mr.  Carlyle's  "hero-worship"  requires  to  be 
balanced  by  a  supplementary  doctrine  of  society  and 
Collective  humanity,  he  would  himself  perhaps  be  dis- 
])osed  to  allow,  liut  what  is  this  supplement  to  be? 
Is  it  merely  to  teach  that  the  individual  is  to  hold 
himself  at  the  disposal  of  the  loliole  ?  to  correct  his 
conscience  by  the  general  tradition  or  the  permanent 
voice  of  humanity  ;  to  sink  his  egoism,  to  temper  it  by 
immersion  in  the  universal  element,  and  become  the 
organ  of  the  ])rogress  of  the  species?  Far  be  it  from 
us  to  deny  that  there  may  be  men  susceptible  of  inspi- 
ration from  such  a  faith,  —  capable  of  dying  for  such 
abstractions  as  a  "law  of  devcloi)ment,"  of  being  torn 
limb  from  limb  out  of  regard  for  "  the  whole."  Still 
less  would  we  disparage  by  one  word  a  heroism  all 
the  nobler  for  the  faint  whispers  that  suffice  to  waken  it 
into  life.  Yet  we  cannot  help  feeling  that  in  these  im- 
personal ideas,  —  of  "collective  society,"  "law  of  the 
whole,"  "destination  of  mankind,"  &c. — there  is  a 
want  of  natural  authority  over  the  conscience,  and, 
missing  the  conscience,  over  the  personal  impulses  of 
individual  men.  In  the  mere  notions  of  "whole  and 
part,"  of  "  organism  and  member,"  of  "  average  rule 
and  particular  case,"  there  resides  no  moral  element, 
no  ri(jhts  over  the  trill:  and  if  ever  they  seem  to  carry 
such  fimctions,  it  is  only  because  a  deeper  feeling  liu'ks 
behind  and  lends  them  the  insignia  of  a  prerogative  not 

2o 


402  PERSONAL    INFLUENCES 

tlicir  own.  In  a  world  of  mere  "general  laws."  it 
would  ever  remain  a  melancholy  thini;;  to  sec  living 
heroes  and  saints  struck  down  at  the  altar  of  "histori- 
cal tendency"  hy  some  shadowy  dagger  of  necessity. 
Love,  enthusiasm,  devotion,  need  some  concrete  and 
living  ohjeet ;  if  not  to  command  their  allegiance,  at 
least  to  turn  it  from  sorrow  into  joy.  And  you  have  i)ut 
to  translate  your  "progress  of  the  species"  into  "  King- 
dom of  Heaven,"  and  the  problem  is  solved.  The 
ever-living  God  stands  in  Person  between  the  "  indi- 
^idual"  and  the  "  whole," — by  His  communion  mediat- 
ing between  them, — stirring  in  the  conscience  of  the 
one,  and  constituting  the  tides  of  advancing  good  in 
the  other,  —  and  so  engaging  both  in  one  spiritual  life. 
SiUTcndering  immediately  to  Him,  instead  of  to  the  ulti- 
mate ratios  of  the  world,  faithful  men  Hing  themselves 
into  Onmipotent  sympathy,  and  find  deliverance  atid 
repose.  They  have  a  trust  that  relieves  them  of  every 
care ;  and  can  leave  themselves  to  be  applied  to  the 
great  account  and  problem  of  the  world  by  One  who 
is  in  the  midst,  and  from  the  first,  and  at  the  end,  at 
once.  Through  Him,  therefore,  as  the  common  term 
of  all  righteousness,  must  the  collective  humanity  win 
its  due  rights  and  reverence  from  Each.  The  private 
conscience  ceases  to  be  private,  the  public  claim  to  be 
merely  public,  when  both  are  to  us  the  instant  plead- 
ings of  His  living  authority.  In  obeying  them,  we  yield 
neither  to  a  mixed  n)ultitude  of  our  own  kind,  Avhoso 
average  voice  is  no  better  than  our  own,  nor  even  to 
our  mere  higher  self;  but  to  the  august  llevealer  of 
whatever  is  pure  and  just  and  true.  In  enforcing  its 
traditions  and  inheritance  of  right ,  the  Nation  or  Society 


ON    OUR    PKESENT    THEOLOGY.  403 

of  men  is  not  proudly  riding  on  its  own  arbitrary  will, 
but  recognizing  the  trust  committed  to  it  and  serving  as 
the  organism  of  eternal  rectitude. 

It  is  for  want  of  this  deliverance  from  Self  at  the 
upper  end,  that  Mr.  Carlyle,  resolute  to  break  the  igno- 
ble bondage  on  any  terms,  proposes  escape  at  the  lower 
end;  and,  [)reachiiig  up  the  glories  of  "Unconscious- 
ness," sighs  for  relapse  into  the  life  of  blind  impiilsi\e 
tendency.  With  him,  we  confess  the  curse  ;  we  groan 
beneath  its  misery  ;  but  we  see  from  it  a  double  path, — 
backward  into  Xatin"e,  forward  into  God,  —  and  cannot 
for  an  instant  doubt  that  the  Self-consciousness  which 
is  the  beginning  of  Reason  is  never  to  I'ocede,  but  to 
rise  and  free  itself  in  the  transfiguration  of  Faith.  Deny 
and  bar  out  this  hope,  and  who  can  wonder  if  the 
sharpest  remedies  for  n)an's  selfish  security  are  welcomed 
with  a  wild  joy  ;  if  nmi  convulsion  that  shall  strip  off 
the  green  crust  of  artificial  cultui'C  and  lay  bare  the 
primitive  rock  beneath  us,  appears  as  a  needful  return 
of  the  fermenting  chaos?  How  else  are  the  elementary 
forces  of  instinctive  nature  to  re-assert  their  rights  and 
begin  (igdin  from  their  unthinking  freshness?  In  some 
such  feeling  as  this  we  find,  [)erhaps,  the  source,  in  Mr. 
Carlyle,  of  that  terrible  glee  that  seems  to  flame  up  at 
the  spectacle  of  revolutionary  storms,  and  to  dart  with 
niockuij;  fleams  of  devilrv  and  tender  streaks  of  hu- 
manity  over  a  backgroimd  of  "divine  des[)air."  Indeed 
wc  conld  not  wish  for  a  better  illustration  of  the  two 
paths  of  escape  from  Self, —  back  into  Nature,  forward 
into  God,  —  than  the  contrast  of  Carlyle  and  Maurice 
in  the  whole  coloring  and  climate  of  their  spirit :  the 
sad,   pathetic,    scornful  humor   of  the  one,   capricious 


404  TERSOXAL    IXFLUEXCES 

uith  laiigliter,  tears,  and  anfjer,  niid  cxj)rcs?ivc  of  man- 
ful pity  and  endurance,  alike  removed  from  fear  and 
liope  ;  and  tlic  buoyant,  serene,  tru.-stful  temper  of  tlic 
other,  genial  even  in  its  indignation,  and  j)enetrat(;d 
with  the  joy  of  an  Infinite  Love. 

The  three  schools  of  doctrine  at  wjiich  we  have  thus 
ra|)idly  glanced  occupy  the  most  distant  points  in  the 
Knglish  religion  of  the  present  age  ;  or,  at  least,  in 
the  new  fields  of  tendency  which  it  has  opened.  It  may 
seem  a  vain  quest  to  look  for  any  thing  coiumon  to  the 
wht)Ie.  Yet  when  they  are  intcr{)reted  by  their  inner 
spirit,  rather  than  by  their  outward  relations,  one 
thought  will  be  found  secreted  at  the  heart  of  all  —  the 
])erennial  Indwelling  of  God  in  Man  and  in  the  Uni- 
verse. This  is  the  distinct  gain  that  has  been  won  by 
the  spiritual  consciousness  of  the  time  ;  and  that  already 
enriches  fiction  and  poetry,  art  and  social  murals,  not 
less  than  direct  theology.  In  the  })rcceding  criticisms 
we  have  said  enough  to  show  that  we  are  not  indilFcrcnt 
to  the  mode  and  form  of  doctrine  in  which  this  thought 
is  embodied.  But  however  threatening  the  mists  from 
which  it  has  to  clear  itself,  it  is  the  dawn  of  a  truth, — 
a  blush  upon  the  East,  —  wakening  up  trustful  hearts 
to  tiianksglving  and  hope.  We  know  well  the  anger 
and  antipathy  of  all  the  elder  parties  towards  every 
phase  of  the  new  sentiment.  We  are  accustomed  to 
their  absurd  and  heartless  attempt  to  divide  all  men  be- 
tween the  tw  o  ])oles  of  their  logical  dilenmia,  —  either 
absolute  Atheism,  or  else  "our"  orthodoxy.  But  these 
are  only  symptoms  that  the  new  wine  cannot  go  into 
the  old  bottles.  They  do  but  betray  the  inevitable 
blindness   of  party -life,  —  the   increasing    self-seeking. 


ox    OUU    niESEXT    THEOLOGY.  405 

the  loss  of  genial  humility,  the  conceit  of  finished  wis- 
dom, which  mark  the  decadence  of  all  sects.  Precisely 
in  tlie  n>iddle  of  this  pretended  alternative  of  necessity, 
—  far  from  "Atheism"  on  the  one  hand,  and  from  most 
"  orthodoxies  "  on  the  other,  —  stand  at  this  moment 
the  vast  majority  of  the  most  earnest,  devout,  philoso- 
})hic  Christians  of  our  time  ;  men  with  trust  in  a  Living- 
Righteousness,  which  no  ci*eed  of  one  age  can  adequate- 
ly define  for  the  fresh  experiences  given  to  the  spirit 
of  another.  To  them,  and  not  to  the  noisy  devotees 
and  pharisees  of  party,  do  we  look  for  the  faith  of  the 
future. 


406 


THEOLOGY   IN   ITS    RELATION    TO    PROGRES- 
SIVE  KNOWLEDGE.* 


The  College  which  resumes  its  work  this  clay  professes 
to  impart  a  special  training  for  the  Christian  Ministry  : 
and  the  Christian  Minister  is  one  who,  in  discipleshii) 
to  Jesus  Christ,  aims  to  guide  the  reverence,  to  ennoble 
the  conscience,  and  sustain  the  piety,  of  men.  To  treat 
sucli  an  office  as  the  object  of  a  particular  discipline, 
not  simply  for  the  cliaracter  and  affections,  but  for  the 
intellect  too,  takes  for  granted,  what  has  not  always 
been  admitted,  that  Theology  is,  in  some  sense,  a 
Science  and  admits  of  being  methodically  taught.  This 
assumption  would  be  false,  if  religious  truth  were  simply 
a  natural  intuition,  or  a  supernatural  inspiration,  in  each 
individual  mind.  Just  as  Aristotle,  in  order  to  save 
Ethics  for  scientific  treatment,  dismisses  the  hypothesis 
that  virtue  is  either  a  native  faculty  or  a  given  feeling, 
and  insists  that  it  is  a  formed  quality  and  developed 
order  of  preferences  in  the  mind  ;f  so,  if  our  "schools 
of  the  prophets"  are  to  have  any  justification,  we 
must  be  )>repared  to  show,  that  religion  contains  matter 
for  teaching,   and   is  neither  inborn  like  eyesight,  nor 

*  An  Adilrcps  at  the  Oiicning  of  the  Session  1865-6  of  Mandicster  New 
College,  London,  October  the  9th,  1865. 
t  Eth.  Nic.  II.  V. 


THEOLOGY    IX    ITS    KELATIOX,    ETC.  407 

nn  nrbitrnry  vipitnnt  like  a  trance  or  dream  :  for.  in 
the  one  caee,  traiiiinii'  would  be  siij)eriluous,  and,  in  tiie 
other,  ini[)t)ssihle.  All  teachinu"  is  coinnuinication  from 
mind  to  mind  :  it  imj)lies  that  one  mind  mav  know  more 
than  another,  and  the  t;ame  mind  more  at  a  later  time 
thin  at  an  earlier.  And,  using  the  inecjuality  as 
instrument  for  the  ])rogress,  it  further  assumes  that 
teacher  and  taught,  instead  of  being  abandoned  to  lonely 
inspiration, — 'Svords  that  cannot  be  uttered," — have 
a  connnon  mediiun  of  thought  and  mutual  intelligence, 
and  can  meet,  when  they  speak  together,  upon  the 
same  real  objects.  As  every  Medical  school  takes  for 
granted,  by  its  very  existence,  that  the  animal  body  is 
real,  and  its  physiological  constitution  permanent  and 
cognizable  ;  as  every  Law  school  takes  for  granted  that 
human  society  is  constant,  and  throws  its  self-regulating 
forces  into  a  machinery  but  little  variable  ;  so  does  a 
Theological  school  assume  that  God  and  his  relations 
to  man  are  objective  realities,  perpetually  there  and 
approachable  by  human  faculties.  Two  things  there- 
fore, witii  regaixl  to  the  nature  of  religion,  are  denied 
by  every  such  institution  as  this:  (1)  it  is  not  a  mere 
natural  instinct;  (2)  it  is  not  a  mere  supernatural 
grace.  And  two  things  about  it  are  affirn)ed  :  (1)  it 
])rescnts  something  real  and  permanent  for  the  intellect 
to  hold  by  ;  (2)  it  has  its  underciMuincd  and  progres- 
sive lines,  on  which  it  is  the  business  of  the  teacher  to 
move  and  mark  the  fixed  points  as  they  emerge. 

Without  this  mixed  composition,  of  the  constant  and 
the  variable,  it  may  be  doubted  whether,  intellectually, 
religion  would  retain  its  interest  at  all.  ^^'ere  it  noth- 
ing but  a  schetnc  of  shifting  conceptions,  unrelated  to 


408  THEOLOGY    I\    ITS    RELATION 

any  thing  beyond  our  personality, — the  mere  shiulow 
of  ourselves  flung  on  the  universe  without,  —  it  nii^hi 
remain,  hke  any  otlicr  illusion,  a  curious  object  of 
j)sychol()gical  analysis,  but  would  lose  all  serious  place 
in  human  life.  Were  it,  on  the  other  hand,  a  scheme 
of  absolute  knowledge,  so  determined  and  rounded  off 
as  to  be.  like  its  Object,  "  without  variableness  or 
shadow  of  a  turning,"  it  might  no  doubt  be  recited 
afresh  to  each  generation,  like  the  alphabet  or  the 
numeration  table,  and  so  far  be  made  the  business  of  a 
school  :  but  however  new  to  the  learner,  it  would  be  old 
to  the  teacher,  and  become  wearisome  as  a  routine,  un- 
quickened  by  the  real  life  of  his  mind.  So  repugnant 
is  this  to  both  the  intellectual  and  the  spiritual  nature, 
that  no  effort  can  render  it  possible  for  long.  Thought 
is  alive,  and  cannot  rotate  like  a  machine;  and,  in  its 
eagerness  for  movement,  carries  every  science  with  it, 
if  not  into  advance,  into  aberration,  —  at  any  rate  into 
change.  Still  more  are  reverence  and  affection  alive  ; 
and,  while  faithful  to  the  same  object,  they  are  unable 
to  rest  without  transporting  it  into  a  new  air  and 
investing  it  with  fresh  lights  :  so  that  a  religion  i'or- 
1  idden  to  improve  betakes  itself  to  degeneracy,  rather 
than  become  j)etrificd,  and,  instead  of  growing  upwaids 
into  statelier  proportions,  breaks  into  lateral  defoi- 
mitie.?,  as  the  only  vent  for  its  vitality.  What,  for 
instance,  are  all  the  outrages  on  sense  and  hi.-itory 
oonunittcd  by  the  prophetic  or  allegorical  interprcrer, 
but  an  attempt  to  adjust  a  fixed  text  to  a  moving 
world,  to  find  room  within  the  narrow  frame  of  the  an- 
cient letter  for  the  grand  lines  and  various  groups  of 
the  modern  picture?     These  cannot  be  left  out  of  the 


TO    IfiOGRESSIVE    KNOWLEDGE.  409 

pclieme  of  t'siith,  since  they  have  found  their  way  into 
the  scheme  of  things  :  and  those  who  seek  for  God, 
not  in  his  own  universe,  but  in  a  document  about  it, 
are  obliged  to  stretch  {\nd  distort  the  record  to  make 
room  for  what  is  not  there.  Even  in  the  most  station- 
ary theologies,  the  real  interest  lies  in  the  expansion  of 
old  truth  to  embrace  and  consecrate  the  newest  births 
of  time. 

The  mode,  however,  of  dividing  the  constant  from 
the  variable  elements  in  a  religion  is  not  always  the 
same ;  and  in  the  intellectual  training  of  Christian 
teachers,  it  makes  the  greatest  difference  which  of  two 
principles  we  adopt  as  our  rule. 

The  first  assun>es  that  the  things  to  be  taught  are  a 
determinate  stock  of  truths  given  in  perpetuity,  suscep- 
tible of  no  increase,  secured  against  all  abatement. 
These  are  the  divine  constants  ;  filling  the  whole  sphere 
of  religion  ;  and  throwing  out  all  the  variables  into  the 
secular  sciences  and  arts  ;  amid  which  religion  is  to  find 
its  application  without  any  re-action  upon  its  theory. 
Let  us  consider  what  direction  is  naturally  impressed 
upon  theological  education  by  this  assumption. 

The  primary  aim  will  be  to  teach  methodically  the 
fixed  scheme  of  positive  religion,  and  secure  on  every 
side  its  hold  on  the  student's  mind.  Nor  is  it  by  any 
means  a  scanty  intellectual  culture  that  may  subserve 
this  end.  For  the  Protestant  (to  whom  we  must  limit 
our  view)  the  scheme  is  embodied  in  Scripture.  Now 
to  be  master  of  Scripture  is  to  be  at  home  in  two  lan- 
guages, most  unlike  each  other,  and  long  silent  upon 
the  earth  ;  to  have  an  eye  and  ear  for  their  dialectic 
variations  in  time  and  place ;  to  trace  the  literary  life  of 


410  THEOLOGY   IN   ITS   RELATION 

the  Hebrew  people  from  its  dawn  to  itcj  decline,  and  of 
Christendom  in  its  obscure  beginnings ;  to  be  familiar 
with  the  history  of  the  Eastern  world  till  it  became  u 
province  of  the  AVest.  These  resources  are  needed  for 
entering  into  the  interior  of  Scripture.  But  no  ancient 
book  is  rightly  appreciated,  unless  its  external  history 
is  surveyed,  and  the  witnesses  examined  to  its  origin, 
its  travels,  its  transmission,  the  uncertainties  of  its  text, 
and  worth  of  its  translations  :  —  researches,  the  ex- 
tent and  complexity  of  wliich  are  sufficiently  attested  by 
the  immense  critical  apparatus  they  have  placed  at  our 
disposal.  From  tlie  moment  when  the  Scriptures  were 
snatched  from  sacerdotal  keeping  and  delivered  over,  as 
the  new-found  oracles  of  God,  to  the  venerating  scrutiny 
of  reading  men,  the  development  of  sacred  learning  was 
large  and  rapid ;  and,  though  for  a  time  suspended  by 
the  excitement  and  desolation  of  religious  wars,  still 
showed,  in  Limborch  and  Le  Clerc,  how  little  the 
intellectual  impulse  given  by  Calvin  and  Beza  had  spent 
its  force.  The  refinement  and  security  whijih  modem 
scholarship  has  gradually  attained,  and  the  compendious 
form  into  which  the  results  of  vast  research  are  now 
reduced,  are  unfavorable  to  the  reputation  of  those 
earlier  masters  of  sacred  criticism  :  the  light  handbook 
gives  us  what  we  want  at  a  glance,  and  their  heavy 
folios  are  left  to  gather  the  dust  upon  our  shelves.  But 
whoever  has  occasion  to  consult  them  will  be  disposed 
to  wonder  at  the  vast  strides  of  approach  already  made 
towards  the  standard  of  learning  in  our  own  day ; 
especially  when  he  remembers  to  how  great  an  extent 
the  scholar  of  the  sixteenth  and  even  the  seventeenth 
century  had  to  be  his  own  lexicographer  and  gram- 


TO   PROGRESSIVE   KNOWLEDGE.  411 

*narian,  to  make  his  own  index  and  concordance,  to 
work  out  his  own  archaeology,  to  construct  his  own 
maps  and  tables  of  dates,  and  go  to  the  sources  of 
history  for  himself.  These  disadvantages,  which  would 
excuse  a  much  greater  inaccuracy  than  we  actually  find, 
drove  the  man  of  learning  out  over  an  immense  field, 
and  gave  him  a  range  of  erudition  and  a  grasp  of  judg- 
ment which  may  well  astonish  the  more  special  students 
of  later  times. 

The  proportions  in  which  the  religious  and  the  sim- 
ply intellectual  Impulse  contributed  to  the  great  works 
of  Protestant  erudition,  It  is  impossible  to  determine. 
Were  it  not  that,  at  the  revival  of  learning,  precisely 
similar  phenomena  appeared  on  the  field  of  secular 
literature,  and  Joseph  Scallger  and  Henry  Stephens 
rivalled  the  greatest  prodigies  of  theological  Industry, 
we  might  be  tempted  to  say  that  nothing  short  of  an 
overpowering  reverence  for  the  Bible  as  the  word  of 
God,  could  sustain  the  laborious  patience  of  the  old 
divines,  or  invest  with  any  living  interest  their  verbal 
criticisms  and  technical  disputes.  Perhaps  the  spell  put 
upon  the  imagination  in  the  two  cases,  by  the  undis- 
covered wisdom  and  beauty  of  Pagan  literature,  and  by 
the  spiritual  depth  of  the  sacred  books,  was  not  so  dis- 
similar as  we  might  suppose,  and  would  stir  the  mind 
to  the  same  efforts,  and  produce  analogous  results. 
But,  when  the  first  flush  of  wondering  impulse  had 
passed  away,  secular  and  sacred  learning  were  doomed, 
by  a  single  cause,  to  take  different  directions,  and  ac- 
quire a  character  ever  more  distinct.  The  Scriptures 
were  assumed  to  be  a  continuous  oracle,  an  unbroken 
authoritative  record,  homogeneous  for  all  the  purposes 


412  THEOLOGY    IN    ITS    RELATION 

of  rcliuious  guidance,  a  divine  book  in  which  the  ever- 
living  Author,  wielding  the  human  secretaries  as  his 
organs  of  communication,  discloses  all  that  it*  known  of 
his  will  and  moral  government.  If  a  critic  were  to 
treat  the  IHad  of  Homer,  the  Cyropasdeia  of  Xenophon, 
and  the  history  of  Thucydidcs,  as  belonging  to  one 
another,  and  all  as  components  of  the  philosophy  of 
Aristotle,  the  results  could  scarcely  be  more  fatally 
grotesque.  Xo  doubt,  the  sanctity  attributed  to  every 
line  seciu'ed  an  eager  and  prolonged  scrutiny  of  the 
text,  word  by  word  :  but  the  gaze  was  too  close,  and 
the  imaginaiy  light  was  too  intense,  for  clear  and 
comprehensive  vision.  An  exaggerated  significance 
was  seen  in  the  simplest  phrase ;  narrative  was  con- 
strued into  type,  and  myth  mistaken  for  history ;  a 
Hebrew  ode  was  made  to  yield  evangelic  dogma ;  and 
whether  the  Elohist  or  the  Jehovist  told  the  story  of 
Creation,  whether  Job  affirmed  of  God  or  his  friends 
denied,  whether  the  Preacher  taught  Epicureanism  or  the 
later  Isaiah  the  law  of  humiliation,  whether  Matthew 
presented  Ciirist  as  miraculously  conceived,  or  Paul  as 
the  pre-existing  spiritual  Adam,  or  John  the  evangelist 
as  the  Incarnate  Logos,  —  it  was  all  alike  authorita- 
tive:—  the  various  elements  fused  into  one  uniform 
alloy,  and  re-issued,  as  shekels  of  gold,  to  serve  for 
coin  of  the  temple.  In  the  presence  of  such  precon- 
ceptions, it  is  evident  that  all  historical  method,  all 
recognition  of  natural  growth  of  reliijious  ideas,  all  crit- 
ical  appreciation  of  contrasted  doctrines,  all  discharge 
of  local  and  personal  errors  from  the  imperishable 
essence  of  divine  truth,  must  remain  impossible  :  and 
Bcholarship,  kindled  at  first,  but  dizzied  at  last,  with 


TO    ritOGRESSIVE    KNOWLEDGE.  413 

the  monotonous  glory  it  sees  upon  the  page,  settles  into 
blindness  and  distinguishes  nothing.  There  is  an 
immense  accumulation  of  theological  erudition ;  but, 
under  this  spell,  it  lies  dead  and  dark,  and  yields  none 
of  the  brilliant  results  of  the  corresponding  secular 
learning.  There  is  not  within  it  the  free,  sincere  and 
healthy  movement  on  wliich  elsewhere  the  veracious 
instinct  of  the  intellect  insists  ;  it  is  held  in  hand  and 
marched  about,  as  if  to  check  an  enemy.  Ai'c  there 
weak  places  exposed  and  tln-eatened?  its  masses  are 
ordered  up  to  close  and  hide  tliem.  Can  an  impression 
be  made  of  reserved  strength?  its  ranks  are  opened  to 
show  it  and  scare  assault  away.  This  is  not  the  spirit 
of  the  true  scholar;  who,  knowing  no  enemy,  can  leave 
unguarded  any  holy  places  already  held,  and  go  forth, 
as  pilgrim  and  ex])l()rer,  to  find  new  ones  that  shall 
enlarge  his  h;)mage  and  consecrate  fresh  points  upon 
the  woild. 

Not  even  the  most  I'igid  theologian,  however,  can 
live  exclusively  with  what  he  I'egards  as  the  constduts  of 
religion.  Fix  these  as  he  may,  he  finds  himself  in  a 
changing  scene,  with  the  vdrinbles  of  which  he  is  in 
immediate  contact  ;  and  the  relations  between  the  im- 
mutable data  (»f  his  creed  and  the  shifting  conditions 
of  human  life  liave  to  be  re-adjusted,  as  new  ideas  and 
wants  arise.  To  fiuilitV  himself  for  tliis,  and  become  a 
pr.)ficicnt  in  applied  religion,  he  must  know  how  the 
world  is  going  on,  follow  in  the  track  of  the  advancing 
sciences,  listen  to  the  tones  (»f  the  younger  literature, 
and  breatlic  the  air  of  other  men's  thought.  He  cannot 
act  as  trustee  of  the  deposit  conunitted  to  him,  unless 
he  looks   around  him  and  sees  how  it  is  tu  be  aduunis- 


414  THEOLOGY   IN    ITS    RELATION 

tercel  in  the  altered  temper  of  the  genenitions  as  they 
rise ;  what  doubts  it  has  to  meet,  wliat  repugnance  to 
encounter ;  by  what  fresh  paths  of  approach  it  must 
reach  minds  now  transported  into  uncalcuhited  lati- 
tudes. Theoloifical  education,  therefore,  however  se- 
verely  conservative,  is  far  from  deserving  the  reproach 
of  indifference  to  the  march  of  the  phenomenal  sciences. 
Its  own  purpose  can  never  be  fulfilled  without  a  com- 
prehensive knowledge,  revised  and  filled  in  from  time 
to  time,  of  whatever  the  historical  critic,  and  the 
inductive  philosopher,  and  the  speculative  tliinkei',  may 
profess  to  have  achieved.  But,  under  such  an  inflexi- 
ble system,  the  student's  specialty  is  this  ;  through  his 
wide  range  he  sees  nothing  in  its  simply  natural  light, 
judges  nothing  by  its  own  pro[)er  evidence,  but  carries 
with  him  a  criterion  foreign  to  the  field  ;  his  stock  of 
constants  he  uses  as  regulative,  determining  without 
appeal  what  shall  be  taken  and  what  be  left ;  all  that 
falls  in  with  them  he  appro[)riates  and  works  in  to 
modernize  his  creed ;  fill  that  conflicts  with  them  he 
discards  and  blackens  as  profane.  By  thus  importing 
the  j)ostulates  of  a  divinity-school  as  the  measure  of 
inductive  truth,  a  hopeless  breach  is  created  between 
the  logic  of  theology  and  that  of  science,  and  a  war 
begun  which  is  the  more  miserable,  because  the  parties 
to  it,  always  within  reach  of  irritating  challenge,  move 
upon  different  lines  and  can  never  fairly  meet.  It  is 
needless  to  say  how  this  method  spoils  every  thing  it 
touches,  sch<)lar;jhip,  natural  knowledge,  religion,  and 
produces  the  temper  most  alien  to  the  genius  of  them 
all.  Is  it  not  a  melancholy  fact  that  every  modern 
science   has   had    to   make   good   its   footing,  not   only 


TO   PROGRESSIVE   KNOAVXEDOE.  415 

against  sluggish  incredulity  and  prejudice,  but  against 
misguided  piety?  that  the  very  Sun  could  not  find  his 
right  place  in  the  heavens,  or  Man  prove,  by  bits  of 
pottery  and  flint,  his  long  tenancy  of  this  earth,  with- 
out a  clamor  of  devout  fear  and  futile  contradiction? 
Is  it  right  that  we  should  always  know  beforehand, 
irrespective  of  the  evidence,  what  reception  every  physi- 
cal or  ethnological  theory  which  makes  large  demands 
on  time,  every  critical  verdict  which  lowers  the  date  or 
renames  the  author  of  a  Hebrew  book,  will  meet  with 
from  the  clergy  ?  There  must  be  something  wrong  in 
a  system  which  disturbs  the  quiet  of  eternal  truth  by 
dissolving  in  it  a  fermenting  mass  of  decaying  opinion  ; 
and  whoever  can  precipitate  the  precarious  foreign 
admixtures,  and  leave  the  fountains  of  faith  pure  and 
clear,  brings  the  truest  healing  to  the  moral  and  spir- 
itual life  of  men. 

In  order  to  provide  for  this  function,  and  escape  the 
evils  just  described,  the  College  for  which  I  speak  to- 
day follows  a  different  rule  in  drawing  its  line  between 
tlie  constants  and  the  variables  in  religion.  The  prin- 
ciple is  this  :  the  things  about  which  we  teach  are  given 
in  perpetuity  ;  but  the  things  to  be  taught  about  them 
are  open  to  revision  in  every  age.  God,  in  his  rela- 
tions to  the  universe  and  to  ourselves  ;  Man,  his  indi- 
vidual and  social  nature,  his  responsible  position,  his 
jiistory,  his  destination,  —  are  the  ultimate  objects 
which  we  here  aspire  to  know  ;  and,  as  media  of  this 
knowledge,  on  the  philosophical  side,  the  intellectual, 
ethical  and  spiritual  phenomena  of  the  mind  ;  and,  on 
the  historical,  the  manifestations  of  Divine  [iife  in  the 
paet   of   our    humanity,   and    i)rimarily   in    the    person 


416  THEOLOGY    IN    ITS    llELATION 

and  work  of  Jesus  Christ,  with  whom  it  culminates, 
and  from  whom  dates  a  new  birth  of  inextinguishable 
faith  and  as[)iration,  a  new  glow,  unexhausted  yet,  of 
pity  and  of  hope.  The  form  and  spirit  of  an  intellec- 
tual training  conducted  on  this  principle  it  is  not  difti- 
cult  to  trace. 

It  is  sometimes  supposed,  that  where  so  much  is  left 
open  to  revision,  the  continuity  of  belief  must  be 
broken,  and  no  permanent  roots  be  struck  to  feed  the 
growth  and  mature  the  fruits  of  religious  character. 
Each  teacher,  it  is  imagined,  relying  on  his  lonely 
fancies,  and  dignifying  them  with  the  name  of  intui- 
tions, will  begin  his  quest  de  novo,  and  think  out 
his  scheme  of  doctrine,  as  if  he  were  floating  by  him- 
self in  space;  owning  no  authority,  and  deriving  no 
strength  from  his  partnership  in  the  heritage  of  hu- 
manity. Nothing  can  be  more  erroneous.  No  doubt 
it  nmst  always  rest  with  the  individual  reason  and  con- 
science to  pronounce  the  personal  verdict  of  true  or 
false ;  but  the  pleadings  on  which  they  decide  are 
fetched  from  the  gathered  stores  of  Christian  and 
heathen  wisdom,  and  epitomize  the  thought  expended 
on  the  oldest  and  deepest  problems  ;  and,  when  seem- 
ing to  flow  immediately  from  a  single  mind,  are  ren- 
dered possible  there  only  by  a  traceless  myriad  of 
infiuences  infiltrating  into  it  from  earlier  time.  The 
whole  Past  must  rain  upon  the  uplands,  and  the  clouds 
hang  on  the  invisible  peaks,  of  history,  to  make  the 
smallest  rill  of  thought  that  winds  through  our  own  dav. 
Even  in  the  philosophical  treatment  of  natural  Ethics 
and  Religion,  where,  as  in  all  deductive  reasoning,  we 
seem  to  be  independent  of  what  predecessors  have  found, 


TO   PROGUESSrV'E    KNOWLEDGE.  411 

and  to  draw  conclusions  that  would  be  at  home  in  any 
age,  the  appearance  is  illusory  ;  fur  that  very  human 
nature  from  whose  phenomena  we  reason  and  whose 
affections  we  interpret,  has  expanded  into  new  and 
richer  forms,  and  presents,  in  its  circle  of  Christian 
experience,  data  unknown  before.  And  in  historical 
theology,  the  very  semblance  of  any  breach  with  the 
past  is  simply  impossible.  No  man  can  extemporize, 
or  spin  out  of  himself,  a  critical  knowledge  of  ancient 
languages,  literature  and  life ;  he  is  here  absolutely 
dependent  on  forerunners  for  his  whole  outfit  of  origi- 
nal assumptions  and  beliefs,  and  must  start  on  his  own 
explorings  from  the  point  at  which  tiiey  have  deposited 
him.  The  slow  and  gentle  way  in  which  alone  the 
shadows  can  ever  break  from  off  the  undent  woi"ld,  and 
a  little  light  steal  in,  now  from  the  pages  of  a  recov- 
ered book,  now  through  the  propyhcum  of  a  dug-up 
temple,  and  then  from  some  hapjn'  flash  of  philok)gical 
combination,  sufficiently  seciu'cs  us,  so  long  as  we  are 
simple  and  trustful,  without  fear  and  without  guile, 
from  anv  but  silent  and  insensible  chaniies  of  histori- 
cal  conviction.  In  ^nch  ujattcrs,  the  shocks  all  come 
from  our  insincerities  and  dehiys  on  the  one  hand,  and 
from  the  re-action  of  irreverent  extravagance  pnnoked 
u[)un  the  other ;  feverish  paroxysuis  being  the  inevita- 
ble retribution  of  long  reticence  and  suppression. 

In  order  to  fall  in  with  the  peaceful  course  of  theo- 
logical change,  to  hold  by  wh;it  is  undisturbed,  and 
detach  it  from  the  doom  of  the  rest,  the  student  nmst 
be  well  brought  up  to  the  ])<)int  already  reached,  the 
point  at  which  he  pitches  his  tent  and  raises  his  altar, 
till    he    is    ordered    to    move    on.     This    involves    the 

27 


418  THEOLOGY   IN    ITS    RELu\TION  t 

whole  apparatus  of  knowledge  required,  in  the  former 
case,  by  tlie  stationary  defender  of  the  faith ;  together 
with  an  important  addition,  viz.  an  acquaintance  with 
tiie  historij  of  theology,  in  the  largest  sense  ;  not  only 
with  the  ecclesiastical  stages  by  which  accepte<l  dogma 
wj'.s  fornjcd,  but  with  the  inverse  critical  processes  by 
which  it  has  been  partially  dissolved,  and  remaved  from 
the  faith  of  scholarly  men.  One  who  is  pledged  to  hold 
u  compacted  scheme  of  belief  as  divine,  can  never  rec- 
ognize it  as  growing  or  declining  with  the  changing 
seasons  of  .our  nature,  at  one  time  the  creation,  at 
another  the  victim,  of  human  reason.  He  is  obliged, 
therefore,  to  ignore  its  history,  however  indisputable  it 
may  be ;  to  treat  as  an  image  fallen  from  heaven,  some 
idol  of  doctrine  which,  if  you  are  familiar  with  its  first 
age,  you  may  see  gradually  moulded  under  the  pressure 
of  the  time ;  and  to  insist  that  it  still  stands  as  ada- 
mant, though  in  the  dry  intellectual  air  all  its  tenacity 
is  gone,  and  observers  wonder  when  the  clay  is  to  crum- 
ble into  dust.  Even  within  the  memory  of  our  own 
generation,  how  many  are  the  determinate  points  of 
change,  which  it  would  be  simply  stupid  not  to  register 
as  past  events  in  the  history  of  opinion  !  What  has 
become  of  the  date  which  stood  in  our  school-tables, 
"Creation  of  the  World,  B.C.  4004"?  and  what  of 
the  next,  "The  Universal  Deluge,  B.C.  2348"?  Into 
what  undreamt-of  distance  has  Egyptian  chronology  re- 
treated !  yet  how  many  such  steps  must  we  repeat,  ere 
we  alight  upon  the  first  vestiges  of  man  !  and  how 
many  more,  to  exhaust  the  relics  of  life  and  death  ui)on 
this  world  !  We  have  learned  to  recognize  the  compo- 
site structure  and  comparatively  low  date  of  the  Peuta- 


TO   PROGRESSIVE   KNOWLEDGE.  419 

teiich  ;  the  progression  of  religious  doctrine  through 
the  01(1  Testament ;  its  variety  in  the  New ;  the  mix- 
ture of  unhistorical  elements  in  both,  and  of  human 
opinions  long  ago  corrected,  and  expectations  never 
fulfilled.  In  what  state  of  mind  would  the  scholar  be 
who  did  not  know  these  things  ?  or  the  reasoner  who 
should  suppose  that  they  left  all  as  it  was  before?  All 
that  is  reali,  indeed,  all  that  is  Divine., — God  in  his 
perfection,  Christ  in  his  filial  sanctity,  and  for  humanity 
the  eternal  law  of  Duty  and  Self-sacrifice, — they  and 
similar  changes  without  end,  sweep  past  and  leave 
more  majestic  than  before.  But  he  only  can  feel  the 
serenity  of  this  assurance,  to  whose  trust  no  constants 
are  essential  beyond  the  irremovable  realities. 

Even  he,  however,  must,  from  time  to  time,  take 
careful  account  of  the  course  of  discoAcry  in  its  bear- 
ings on  the  common  heritage  of  faith,  with  a  view  to 
guide  and  resettle  the  piety  of  others.  For  this  end, 
something;  more  is  needed  than  a  knowledge  of  what 
has  already  been  done,  aflTecting  theological  belief:  he 
must  know  what  is  6'^///  doing,  —  the  inquiries  that 
are  hovering  and  preparing  to  alight,  —  the  thoughts 
that  are  in  the  air,  — the  weather-signs  that  drift  upon 
the  clouds  :  for  these,  interpreted  by  the  law  of  the 
past,  will  often  give  a  serviceable  presage  of  the  future, 
and  prevent  the  misplacement  of  syinpathy  and  effort. 
If  he  have  the  tact  of  a  tender  and  pious  heart,  he 
will  use  this  foresight  of  the  probable  direction  of 
thought,  not  loudly  to  prejudge  what  is  yet  on  trial,  or 
to  hurt  a  reverence  which  time,  if  it  does  not  entirely 
spare,  may  gently  train  another  way  ;  but  to  avoid  lin- 


420  THEOLOGY   IN    ITS    RELATION 

goring  too  long  upon  .1  precarious  spot,  and  fiilontlj^ 
to  withdraw  nien's  worship  to  ground  for  ever  sacred. 
But,  beyond  this  noiseless  prejjaration  for  changes  ihat 
may  not  be  far,  lie  will  guard  his  mind  against  iuiy 
interest  of  religious  partisanship  in  tlie  pending  prob- 
lems of  science  or  criticism.  Removed  alike  from 
boastful  elation  at  their  progress  and  from  blind  re- 
pugnance to  it,  he  will  give  his  religion  no  regnlaiixc 
power  over  his  scientific  judgment :  so  that,  from  the 
tone  of  iiis  devotion  and  the  cast  of  his  affections,  you 
shall  not  be  able  to  tell  beforehand  what  he  thinks  of 
the  origin  of  species,  or  the  antiquity  of  man,  or  the 
date  of  Daniel  or  the  authenticity  of  the  fourth  Gos- 
pel ;  but  he  will  surrender  himself  simply  to  the  facts 
as  they  appear  in  evidence  ;  frankly  going  with  every 
conclusion  fiiirly  won  ;  pausing  in  every  sus|)ense  ;  rest- 
ing on  what  is  undisturbed  ;  deeming  it  the  office  at 
once  of  reason  and  of  faith,  not  to  bespeak  the  universe 
that  ought  to  be,  but  humbly  to  accej)t  the  universe  that 
is,  and  find  room  in  it  for  reverence  and  trust. 

That  this  enlargement  of  the  variables  in  theology, 
so  as  to  include  the  whole  sphere  of  phenomenal  knowl 
edge,  is  alone  consistent  with  the  true  temper  of  tho 
])hilosopher  and  the  scholar,  will  hardly  be  questioned 
But  how  will  it  affect  our  religion?  Does  it  not  pui 
Kcvelation  at  hazard?  Is  piety  safe,  when  so  much  to 
which  it  clings  is  set  .afloat? 

I  reply,  our  rule  sets  nothing  afloat,  but  only  ])ro- 
vidcs  how  we  shall  demean  ourselves  towards  that 
which,  by  the  decree  of  nature  and  of  God,  is  ajloal: 
and  the  rule  is  simply,  not  to  deal  with  it,  whilst  it  is 


TO   PROGRESSIVE    KNOWLEDGE.  421 

in  motion,  as  if  it  were  fixed.  Certainty  is  not  ours  to 
create  or  to  annihilate  ;  wo  cannot  make  it,  by  pretend- 
ing it ;  we  do  not  destroy  it,  by  letting  its  absence 
s})eak  for  itself.  If  piety  has  been  brought,  as  is  too 
])robable,  to  cling  to  many  doubtful  and  perishable 
things,  so  far  it  is  assuredly  imsafe  ;  but  will  you  rem- 
edy this  by  declaring  the  doubtful  to  be  sure,  and  the 
perishable  immortal  ?  or,  by  giving  the  affection  its 
true  Object,  and  carrying  it  to  an  eternal  rest?  If 
Christendom,  sickly  and  feeble  with  its  long  disease 
of  dogma,  has  got  to  put  its  trust,  not  so  much  in  the 
living  God  and  his  own  real  ways,  as  in  certain  opin- 
ions about  him  and  reports  of  his  acts,  it  is  a  healing 
process  to  disengage  its  soul  from  the  detaining  veil  of 
human  notions  and  propositions,  and  deliver  it  straight 
into  personal  divine  relations.  An  unreserved  repose 
upon  reality,  an  acceptance  of  it  as  better  than  any 
semblance  and  having  absolute  right  over  our  ideas,  is 
the  genuine  piety  of  the  intellect,  without  which  there 
is  no  sacredness  in  its  exercise,  no  struggling  refrac- 
tions, no  tender  tints  of  trust  and  sacrifice,  to  mellow 
its  dry  light. 

All  " llevelation,"  by  the  very  force  of  the  term, 
must  be  a  disclosure  of  things  as  they  are.  Every 
corrected  conception  of  things  as  they  are,  sustained 
by  scientific  evidence,  either  concurs  with  the  presumed 
revelation,  or  it  does  not.  If  it  does  not,  a  human 
error  is  eliminated  from  an  aggregate  which  we  had 
charged  entirely  on  God,  and  what  is  his  own  stands 
purified  ;  the  natural  has  gained  a  light,  and  the  super- 
natural has  lost  a  darkness.     If  it  docs  concur,  then 


422  TnEOLOGY  IN  ITS   RELATION 

w  h.it  was  before  known  as  revealed  is  now  also  known 
as  natural :  we  sec  for  ourselves  what  had  been  taken 
on  the  testimony  of  those  who  knew  better ;  and  our 
apprehension  is  unspeakably  cleared  and  deepened. 
The  truth  no  longer  hangs  detached,  plainly  seen 
indeed,  but  apart  from  its  tissue  of  relations ;  it  has 
found  its  footing  and  settled  upon  its  own  ground. 
Revealed  religion,  so  far  as  it  is  not  fancied  but  real, 
must  always  be  undergoing  this  conversion  into  natu- 
ral :  if  it  gives  us  the  master-thought  of  God,  the  true 
key  to  which  the  unopened  recesses  of  the  inner  and 
the  outer  world  will  yield,  it  can  hardly  fail  to  find,  or 
by  developing  to  add,  the  experiences  which  conform 
to  it  and  evidence  it.  Whatever,  being  found  in 
Scripture,  is  refound  in  nature  and  in  life,  becomes  an 
independent  possession  of  humanity ;  and,  except  that 
the  history  of  truth  is  only  second  in  importance  to 
truth  itself,  the  very  Scriptures  might  so  far  suffer 
again  their  mediajval  disappearance,  without  loss  of 
the  treasure  thev  had  given  to  the  world. 

And,  if  the  theologians  could  but  look  with  a  calm 
eye  upon  the  past,  they  must  see  that,  wherever  the 
strife  is  over  and  the  field  is  still,  every  advance  of 
knowledge  has  been  a  gain  to  religion,  won  at  the 
expense  only  of  deforming  fictions.  As  our  petty 
schemes  of  the  world  break  in  pieces  and  fall  away, 
diviner  ones  construct  themselves  and  make  us  ashamed 
of  our  regrets.  Who  would  now,  in  the  interests  of 
piety,  wish  to  have  back  the  childish  little  kosmos 
of  the  Hebrew  legends,  or  the  three  stories  of  the 
Pauline  heaven?    or  dare   to   say,  that,   in   supersed- 


'j»»^-««i.«tvy  t?wr*Tf  :f«-.- 


lO   PROGRESSIVE   KNOWLEDGE.  423 

hig  them,  Copernicus  and  Newton  blasphemed?  Who 
would  choose  to  have  no  kosmos  at  all  till  six  thousand 
years  ago,  or  fling  a  stone  at  a  Hcrschel  or  a  Lyell  for 
lettinjj  in  li":ht  and  showins;  life  within  that  dark  im- 
mensity?  The  age  of  the  world,  as  it  deepens,  does 
but  prolong  its  testimony  to  God,  and  make  it  worthier 
of  his  eternity  :  its  scale,  as  it  expands,  does  but  place 
us  in  a  temple  more  august,  and  nearer  to  his  Infinity. 
Does  .any  one,  whose  mind  has  been  enlarged  by 
ancient  history  and  wliose  heart  has  listened  to  the  old 
mythologies,  want  to  have  his  sympathies  reduced 
again  to  the  "  chosen  people,"  and  the  divine  com- 
nmnion  with  our  race,  so  various  and  pathetic  in  its 
early  struggling  tones,  restricted  to  that  only  channel  ? 
And  if  from  the  person  of  Jesus  Christ  the  artificial 
dress  of  Messianic  investiture,  and  some  disjjuisinjj 
shreds  of  Jewish  fable,  drop  away,  who  that  can  fix 
an  appreciating  eye  on  the  emerging  form,  will  not  say 
that  it  is  diviner  far,  embodying  in  its  grand  and 
touching  lineaments  the  essence  and  spirit  of  a  new  life 
of  God  in  our  humanity?  This  experience,  this  re- 
moval to  a  higher  point  of  faith,  is  from  tlie  first  the 
invariable  result  with  the  scholar  who  works  most 
freely,  because  quite  trustfully,  at  these  problems  :  as, 
after  long  delay,  it  comes  to  be  the  result  with  all  at 
last.  The  intermediate  disturbance  of  religious  calm, 
—  the  pious  dismay  on  the  one  hand,  the  petulant  iri*ev- 
erence  on  the  other,  —  befall  cliiefly  those  who  do  not 
intimately  commune  with  such  researches,  but,  looking 
on,  judge  them  by  external  and  inapplicable  stand- 
ards,  and  not  by  their  inner  and  essential  relations. 


424  THEOLOGY    IN    ITS    RELATION,    ETC. 

Whoever,  in  these  things,  has  gone  deep  and  touched 
ground,  is  not  afraid  of  falling  into  a  bottomless  abyss  : 
and  hence  the  moral  importance  of  that  thoroughness 
of  study  which  we  strive  to  cultivate  here.  For,  may 
we  not  sa\',  the  essence  of  the  large  and  liberal  spirit 
lies  in  the  absence  of  fear  and  the  promptness  of 
love  ? 


TELE   END. 


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